19-20 September – Another Stop on the Quest for NZ’s Best Fish ‘n Chips
I know it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged – I think I’ve been suffering from blogger’s guilt! The last post described Brandon’s birthday climbing fiasco, and since, we’ve survived our first grueling Auckland winter, with temperatures dipping as low as 3 degrees overnight. There were even a few days when I couldn’t wear flip-flops for the freezing cold! But, in all seriousness, we did have quite a shock. The outdoor weather was bearable, considering we left Canada during a stretch of minus thirty. It was the indoor weather that got to us.
Apparently, only very new NZ homes have sufficient insulation or heating. Everywhere else, people are bundled up inside and out: thermals, merino wool socks, sweaters and underwear, beanies (toques). It was not uncommon for me to pass another classroom and see the teacher wearing a parka as they wrote on the whiteboard.
We had a hard time adjusting to the constant chill. Brandon installed a type of plastic wrap around the window frames to stop the cold draughts, I tried to bake as often as possible. We purchased an electric mattress cover and two electric room heaters. And we paid the price - $360 in electric charges for the month of July. That’s just under ten times the amount we paid during the summer!
I admit, we spent more time inside than we should have, and we still battled the urge to go into “hibernation mode” and eat all the soft, warm foods we could get our hands on. We still made a few trips out to our favorite beaches, but mostly we stayed in Auckland.
But, now that it’s nearly Spring, we’re back in exploration mode!
Last weekend we were treated to a trip to Omaha Beach—not the famous WWII beach—a short hour or so north of Auckland. Wendy and Dave Allan (Wendy works at my school) took us out to her sister’s bach. The weather wasn’t the greatest, but Brandon and I still got a chance to walk along the deserted east-coast beach. Mostly, we enjoyed good games, interesting conversation, and excellent food.
On the Saturday, Wendy and Dave drove us out to Tawharanui Reserve where we got to see baby lambs, Pukeko chicks, and ducklings. Later that evening, we ate a delicious meal of Moroccan Lamb and watched a rugby game before playing games late into the night. By “late into the night” I mean past our usual 9:30 bedtime.
Sunday brought new adventures. We packed up and waved goodbye to Omaha Beach and drove an hour west to the Waitakeres where we visited an alpaca farm. The owner treated us to a lecture on raising alpaca and the alpaca wool trade in NZ. He demonstrated the process of “felting” and answered any and all questions we had—and didn’t know we had—about his alpacas. He was especially proud of the fact that a few of his male alpacas were being sold to Mr. Benz of Germany. Mr. Mercedes Benz.
Next, we headed to a macadamia nut farm where I feasted on a macadamia nut milkshake – divine! Brandon had a latté – just a latté. (We’ll definitely be going back!)
Finally, we concluded the day with a picnic at Shelly Beach. It’s much easier to absorb a busy and stimulating weekend when you’re hypnotized by the soothing ebb and flow of an incoming tide.
This weekend proved more of a trek. Our main destination was Monganui and the Monganui Fish Shop. It’s said to be the best fish ‘n chips in New Zealand. So, Saturday morning we headed 4 hours north to Taupo Bay, which was where I’d booked us a small cabin at a Holiday Park. We were the only ones there, so we enjoyed the privacy and all the space. The cabin was about 200m from the bay, which is supposed to be the safest beach in NZ. Sadly, the weather didn’t cooperate—I have to remind myself it’s Winter—but we still enjoyed an hour or so on the beach blanket with a good book.
We saw some interesting native birds: the small New Zealand kingfisher, the Tui, and the Pukeko. We also saw a parrot! And Brandon took innumerable photos of flowers—he’s obsessed!
In the late afternoon we drove about 20 minutes to Monganui for our fish and chips. The little harbour town was adorable, complete with restored historical sea-front buildings and a small commercial wharf where the locals were perched with their rods and bait, reeling in their dinner.
The Monganui Fish Shop was busy, at least two tour busses stopped while we were there. We ordered our fish fresh and paid extra for a tin of tomato sauce and a container of tartar sauce. However, our eyes were larger than our stomachs, and the 4 pieces of fish, large order of chips, 2 scallops and 2 oysters were far too much and nearly half of it ended up in the bin. And the verdict? The fish was delicious – very fresh and perfectly cooked. But, the fries were nothing special. So, in my mind/stomach, the fish and chips in Whangarei are still the best. But, we had to give it a go.
Upon returning to our cabin, we whiled away the hours with a good book, a hot drink, and a pack of TimTams…
This morning we got up early and headed west across the island, following the main highway, to Kaitaia where we veered toward Ahipara, the “Gateway to 90-Mile Beach.” We took a few quick photos then headed south. The highway on the West Coast is nothing more than a paved trail winding through the country-side with occasional views of the sea and giant sand dunes. As I traced our travels on the map, we seemed to be moving quite slowly. It was too late when I realized we would have to take a car ferry from Motukaraka to Rawene. Our next leg was through the Waipoua Forest, home of Tane Mahuta, the largest living Kauri tree in NZ. Standing 50m tall, and with a circumference of 14m, Tane Mahuta is the “Lord of the Forest” and plays a substantial role in Maori lore.
It seemed to take forever to drive out of the forest, and it felt like we were in the misty jungle of Colombia or some other South American country. The road was terribly winding, and I’m still sore from the side-to-side motion.
From there, we followed the coast through Dargaville to Matakohe and the Kauri Museum. The Kauri tree is a native NZ tree that is extremely valuable. It grows tall and straight, without knots and only grows branches at the very top of the tree. Single slabs of Kauri have been made into giant boardroom tables and, in the 1800’s and early 1900’s, was used to build all kinds of things from pianos to bowls. The sap, or gum, of the Kauri tree used to have many uses (floor lacquer, waterproofing, etc.) but today it is mostly used to make jewelry as it can be polished and looks a bit like amber. Some Kauri trees fell tens of thousands of years ago and were preserved in swamps. When these Kauri are discovered and salvaged, the wood is still of excellent quality.
The museum featured a room full of Kauri gum collections and carvings, many photos of gum-diggers and bushmen, different period displays, and numerous samples of Kauri planks and Kauri products. For a museum all about a tree, we really enjoyed ourselves and learned a lot.
After leaving Matakohe, we headed home, and this part of the drive was very enjoyable. The clouds had dispersed and the early evening sun turned the green hills golden and lit up the mist in the faraway mountain ranges.
This time of year is very beautiful. Many trees that will be full of leaves in a month or two, are covered with blossoms. The wisteria is prolific, cherry trees are covered in pink flowers, magnolia petals are just starting to fall, daffodils and lilies grow wild in the ditches, another tree has sprouted its red hair-brush-like flowers, while another has no leaves, only red flowers scattered throughout the brown branches (I couldn’t find the name).
It’s truly magical at this time of year: lambs chase each other across the paddock and calves scamper around, not a care in the world. Horses share their paddock with chickens and sheep and cows. Even wild peacocks, pheasants and turkeys can be seen flying (or waddling) from one pasture to another. The only sad sight is a squashed possum every few kilometers on the highway. And even that isn’t too sad, since the possum eat the eggs of all the other fowl I mentioned. But they are cute and furry.
Anyway, we’re home now and it’s time for bed. Yes, it’s 9:30.
I hope you all forgive me for my writing hiatus, and haven’t forgotten about us already.
With love…
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Ti-Point
This past week Brandon celebrated his 25th birthday. The night before, I spent four hours making him my (mom’s) world famous cinnamon buns. When he thanked me the next morning, I murmured you’re welcome in between dreams. Between the two of us, 14 cinnamon buns disappeared in less than sixteen hours.
That night, we headed out to Valentine’s, a buffet-chain restaurant. Not our usual type of place, but it caught Brandon’s frugal eye the first day we arrived in Aotearoa. “Free on your birthday.” However, when we got close enough to read the fine print (must be accompanied by three full-paying customers), we had to turn back. To be honest, I wasn’t too disappointed. The fluorescent lighting, vinyl seats and two whole customers didn’t inspire much confidence in the fare. So, we settled for a bowl of fresh seafood—blue-lipped mussels, jumbo prawns (eyeballs and whiskers attached), fish, and calamari—atop a bed of spaghetti noodles, swimming in a tomato and white wine sauce. Café Latté is an Italian restaurant a few blocks away that we first visited on Valentine’s Day.
Brandon enjoyed the meal and a few birthday cards from family, but today was to be the real treat.
Ti-point. Fifty-nine climbing routes. Ocean views. It would’ve been our first rock-climbing expedition since moving to New Zealand five months ago. This started to go wrong as soon as we got out of the car in the parking lot and realized I had left my hiking shoes at the front door. I would have to tramp in my flip-flops. Don’t get me wrong, I love my flip-flops. In Canada, I could be found wearing them in the dead of winter. But the trail we had to follow was a muddy one and on more than one occasion I found myself flailing about trying to keep my balance with my heavy pack and frozen toes inhibiting my progress. Yet, I pressed on and repeated my mantra: Brandon’s birthday, Brandon’s birthday, Brandon’s birthday… After all, it was quite beautiful with the sun shining on the East-coast waves as they lapped the rocky shoreline below us.
After about half an hour of tramping, we came to a sign which read, “Congratulations, you’re at the end” but it wasn’t the end for us. We descended off the trail, carefully crossing a field of boulders in search of the cliffs. I was skeptical, not sure why the guidebook hadn’t mentioned scrambling as part of the journey, and didn’t appreciate the way my flip-flops were slipping on the semi-dry barnacles that covered the rocks. But Brandon was sure he could see cliffs around the corner, so we—no, I—continued cautiously.
Eventually, we found ourselves in an area close to water level, and that’s where it happened. I had a prairie-girl panic-attack. Standing there, surrounded by cold hard stone and the thunderous crash of incoming tide, I imagined a spray of icy ocean wiping me clean off the rock then pounding me again and again against the underside of a boulder until all that remained was a single flip-flop floating amid the flotsam and jetsam of the waves. Transfixed and petrified by my vision, I couldn’t move. In mid-step, my calf began quivering, my heart raced, and I couldn’t help but cry. Just a little.
Brandon, sensing my distress, backtracked and offered his hand and we pushed on. After scrambling across more rock and sensing the rising tide, we eventually had to turn back as the route Brandon was hoping to climb was “nearest the sea” according to the guidebook and we really didn’t want to drown. Brandon was disappointed, but vowed to return once we’d acquired a proper tidal schedule. I was relieved, and eager to head out.
From there, the day seemed to get a lot better. On our way home we passed a fruit stand. It wasn’t your average fruit stand – there was fruit, but there were no people. Mandarins: 2.5 kilos for five dollars. And an honesty box. I love that we live in a country where you can buy spray-free mandarins from an un-manned stall where you put your money in a pad-locked wooden box. And they’re delicious.
We then enjoyed potato wedges, pizza, and a hot-fudge brownie at a café in Onewa. Now I’m making homemade bagels and Brandon’s doing homework. Just another average weekend in New Zealand.
That night, we headed out to Valentine’s, a buffet-chain restaurant. Not our usual type of place, but it caught Brandon’s frugal eye the first day we arrived in Aotearoa. “Free on your birthday.” However, when we got close enough to read the fine print (must be accompanied by three full-paying customers), we had to turn back. To be honest, I wasn’t too disappointed. The fluorescent lighting, vinyl seats and two whole customers didn’t inspire much confidence in the fare. So, we settled for a bowl of fresh seafood—blue-lipped mussels, jumbo prawns (eyeballs and whiskers attached), fish, and calamari—atop a bed of spaghetti noodles, swimming in a tomato and white wine sauce. Café Latté is an Italian restaurant a few blocks away that we first visited on Valentine’s Day.
Brandon enjoyed the meal and a few birthday cards from family, but today was to be the real treat.
Ti-point. Fifty-nine climbing routes. Ocean views. It would’ve been our first rock-climbing expedition since moving to New Zealand five months ago. This started to go wrong as soon as we got out of the car in the parking lot and realized I had left my hiking shoes at the front door. I would have to tramp in my flip-flops. Don’t get me wrong, I love my flip-flops. In Canada, I could be found wearing them in the dead of winter. But the trail we had to follow was a muddy one and on more than one occasion I found myself flailing about trying to keep my balance with my heavy pack and frozen toes inhibiting my progress. Yet, I pressed on and repeated my mantra: Brandon’s birthday, Brandon’s birthday, Brandon’s birthday… After all, it was quite beautiful with the sun shining on the East-coast waves as they lapped the rocky shoreline below us.
After about half an hour of tramping, we came to a sign which read, “Congratulations, you’re at the end” but it wasn’t the end for us. We descended off the trail, carefully crossing a field of boulders in search of the cliffs. I was skeptical, not sure why the guidebook hadn’t mentioned scrambling as part of the journey, and didn’t appreciate the way my flip-flops were slipping on the semi-dry barnacles that covered the rocks. But Brandon was sure he could see cliffs around the corner, so we—no, I—continued cautiously.
Eventually, we found ourselves in an area close to water level, and that’s where it happened. I had a prairie-girl panic-attack. Standing there, surrounded by cold hard stone and the thunderous crash of incoming tide, I imagined a spray of icy ocean wiping me clean off the rock then pounding me again and again against the underside of a boulder until all that remained was a single flip-flop floating amid the flotsam and jetsam of the waves. Transfixed and petrified by my vision, I couldn’t move. In mid-step, my calf began quivering, my heart raced, and I couldn’t help but cry. Just a little.
Brandon, sensing my distress, backtracked and offered his hand and we pushed on. After scrambling across more rock and sensing the rising tide, we eventually had to turn back as the route Brandon was hoping to climb was “nearest the sea” according to the guidebook and we really didn’t want to drown. Brandon was disappointed, but vowed to return once we’d acquired a proper tidal schedule. I was relieved, and eager to head out.
From there, the day seemed to get a lot better. On our way home we passed a fruit stand. It wasn’t your average fruit stand – there was fruit, but there were no people. Mandarins: 2.5 kilos for five dollars. And an honesty box. I love that we live in a country where you can buy spray-free mandarins from an un-manned stall where you put your money in a pad-locked wooden box. And they’re delicious.
We then enjoyed potato wedges, pizza, and a hot-fudge brownie at a café in Onewa. Now I’m making homemade bagels and Brandon’s doing homework. Just another average weekend in New Zealand.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Oakley Creek
Mount Albert, just ten minutes from downtown Auckland, is a clumsy sort of suburb. Old villas, blocks of former government housing, a smattering of bungalows, as well as a range of takeaway shops, barber shops and op-shops make old “Alberton” a slow-seeming community where only Great North Road and a few other roads disturb the general quiet of the area. Despite the drawn curtains and quiet streets, the members of this community give another impression. During election time, a large billboard advertising the party in power has a local contribution in the form of a new slogan: “Where are your tax cuts, bastards!” Everywhere else, you see spray-painted signs posted on fences and to trees condemning the city’s proposed motorway extension which would see some six hundred residences demolished. The multiple-lane freeway will connect the Southern motorway with the Northern and would provide a noisy backdrop to several schools and daycares if it goes ahead. It is a hot topic among Mount Albertons.
It is in this neighborhood, on an early-winter day, that we follow a leave-covered exposed aggregate concrete pathway along Oakley Creek. Once the therapeutic backdrop to a psychiatric hospital, Oakley Creek and its trails are dedicated to Beverly Price. A feisty bachelorette and avid alpine climber, she died with her mother in 1979 in an Erebus plane crash in the Antarctic. Kicking aside some damp, moldy leaves and a loose stone, and surveying the cracked, uneven paving, I’d bet she’d have something to say about the condition of her trail.
The narrow trail forces us to walk one behind the other, so we tramp along quietly. The sound of our heavy breathing and swishing windproofs disturb the critters who take shelter beneath the drooping palms, then the gurgling of the creek drowns us out. Before us, a long set of deep concrete stairs lead down into a clearing beyond the cover of the trees. There, we find Auckland’s sole natural waterfall.
Far from pristine, the stream emerging from the deep pool is littered with debris suggesting drunken visitors and teenagers on serious energy highs. But the ducks don’t seem to mind. They’re happy with the micro-organisms and plant-life they peck from between the moss-covered stones and enjoy a game of ducky-tag.
Brandon crouches at the edge of the pool, adjusting and readjusting the functions on his camera to get the perfect shot of the falls, while I walk the edge of the creek inspecting the vibrant plant-life that thrives despite the cooler temperatures.
Earlier that day, we’d stopped at Hard To Find, my favorite bookstore where used books line nearly every horizontal and vertical space in the two-storey shop. It’s easy for me to hide from my “librophobe” husband between the musty stacks of classics and Kitsch. He goes into fight and flight response when he finally finds me seated amid piles of Irish gold. But they’re cheap, I say, and that’s when he drags me by the elbow to the street to get some fresh air. But on this particular day, it was Brandon’s turn to buy a book. “Urban Walks,” published in 1988, is little more than a cleverly stapled pamphlet. The cover matter unapologetically states the maps are not accurate but they “give you the idea.”
Smiling, the thought of the disclaimer reminded me of the first ten minutes of our tramp when our pauses and uncertain glances revealed our lack of confidence in “Urban Walks.” Still, we knew the falls were there, somewhere. An even older source, our eighty-four year-old British neighbor, forty years in Auckland, knew of the falls. But he wasn’t so sure we should seek it out. With one wiry raised eyebrow, he tapped his forehead with his forefinger and warned us of the crazies said to walk the trails in the dark. Later, I’ll happily inform him there were no crazies to be found.
We squeezed past a man and his young son as the former pointed out some foliage across the creek, identifying it as an introduced species. Another father offered his thanks as we stepped off the trail, allowing his bike and huffing-puffing self to pass us on an incline. His two boys followed, pushing their bikes, their bodies a severe angle against the trail. Thanks were issued between labored breaths. An older couple trod ahead of us at a leisurely pace, arms linked, in their woolen sweaters and hiking shoes. A muddy dog occupied with the sights and smells of the trail-edge, skipped, paused, and waddled alongside them.
We smiled at each other and wondered that this natural beauty was all but hidden from the main streets of this old community. But as we left the sound of wind and water for the fume and traffic of Great North Road, I sighed. What a shame to lose such a magical natural place to make way for the incessant emissions and seeming relentless sprawl of yet another thoroughfare.
It is in this neighborhood, on an early-winter day, that we follow a leave-covered exposed aggregate concrete pathway along Oakley Creek. Once the therapeutic backdrop to a psychiatric hospital, Oakley Creek and its trails are dedicated to Beverly Price. A feisty bachelorette and avid alpine climber, she died with her mother in 1979 in an Erebus plane crash in the Antarctic. Kicking aside some damp, moldy leaves and a loose stone, and surveying the cracked, uneven paving, I’d bet she’d have something to say about the condition of her trail.
The narrow trail forces us to walk one behind the other, so we tramp along quietly. The sound of our heavy breathing and swishing windproofs disturb the critters who take shelter beneath the drooping palms, then the gurgling of the creek drowns us out. Before us, a long set of deep concrete stairs lead down into a clearing beyond the cover of the trees. There, we find Auckland’s sole natural waterfall.
Far from pristine, the stream emerging from the deep pool is littered with debris suggesting drunken visitors and teenagers on serious energy highs. But the ducks don’t seem to mind. They’re happy with the micro-organisms and plant-life they peck from between the moss-covered stones and enjoy a game of ducky-tag.
Brandon crouches at the edge of the pool, adjusting and readjusting the functions on his camera to get the perfect shot of the falls, while I walk the edge of the creek inspecting the vibrant plant-life that thrives despite the cooler temperatures.
Earlier that day, we’d stopped at Hard To Find, my favorite bookstore where used books line nearly every horizontal and vertical space in the two-storey shop. It’s easy for me to hide from my “librophobe” husband between the musty stacks of classics and Kitsch. He goes into fight and flight response when he finally finds me seated amid piles of Irish gold. But they’re cheap, I say, and that’s when he drags me by the elbow to the street to get some fresh air. But on this particular day, it was Brandon’s turn to buy a book. “Urban Walks,” published in 1988, is little more than a cleverly stapled pamphlet. The cover matter unapologetically states the maps are not accurate but they “give you the idea.”
Smiling, the thought of the disclaimer reminded me of the first ten minutes of our tramp when our pauses and uncertain glances revealed our lack of confidence in “Urban Walks.” Still, we knew the falls were there, somewhere. An even older source, our eighty-four year-old British neighbor, forty years in Auckland, knew of the falls. But he wasn’t so sure we should seek it out. With one wiry raised eyebrow, he tapped his forehead with his forefinger and warned us of the crazies said to walk the trails in the dark. Later, I’ll happily inform him there were no crazies to be found.
We squeezed past a man and his young son as the former pointed out some foliage across the creek, identifying it as an introduced species. Another father offered his thanks as we stepped off the trail, allowing his bike and huffing-puffing self to pass us on an incline. His two boys followed, pushing their bikes, their bodies a severe angle against the trail. Thanks were issued between labored breaths. An older couple trod ahead of us at a leisurely pace, arms linked, in their woolen sweaters and hiking shoes. A muddy dog occupied with the sights and smells of the trail-edge, skipped, paused, and waddled alongside them.
We smiled at each other and wondered that this natural beauty was all but hidden from the main streets of this old community. But as we left the sound of wind and water for the fume and traffic of Great North Road, I sighed. What a shame to lose such a magical natural place to make way for the incessant emissions and seeming relentless sprawl of yet another thoroughfare.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
BRRR!!!
31 May 2009
Brrr!! We are, in Brandon’s words, FREAKING COLD!! It is eleven degrees in our lovely home right now. I am wearing long pants and a merino wool top in bed, Brandon has the covers pulled up to his chin and won’t resurface for ANY reason because, as he says, he’s FREAKING COLD!! You’d think we would be enjoying the mild winter, with daytime temperatures in the mid to high ‘teens (above zero!), but we’re having a hard time adjusting to the non-existent insulation, and the lack of indoor heating when the temperature dips to single-digits overnight. We’ve resorted to wearing layer upon layer of clothing, wearing slippers—which I have NEVER done before, considering my dislike of anything covering my toes—cranking up the heat on our eleven-fin oil heater, burying ourselves in blankets, baking like there’s no tomorrow, and eating chili and stew-like concoctions in an attempt to line our cold stomachs. Brandon took to turning on all four burners on the stove in order to heat the kitchen in the morning. In doing so, he melted my spoon-rest to the surface of the stove, not realizing that the burners were meant to have a pot or a pan on them to absorb the heat.
Far be it for us to complain about anything in New Zealand, but the chilly indoors are getting on our nerves. Kiwis respond to our comments about the chill by asking, “Isn’t it much colder in Canada?” Our response is simple, “It’s a lot easier to handle minus thirty when it’s 22 degrees inside.” Still, they do not understand. One co-worker, upon hearing about “central heating,” said that it must be nice to be able to drape your wet laundry on heaters all around the house. She didn’t understand that central heating means that warm air is pumped through vents in the ceiling or floor into every living space in the home. She also couldn’t believe that nearly all Canadians use a clothes dryer instead of a clothes line – even in the summer.
Most Kiwis have no concept of a cold, a real Canadian cold, but we’re surprised that they put up with the three months of “winter” here and don’t resort to double-paned windows, sealing doors, insulating walls etc. (We purchased that Saran-wrap-type stuff for our windows from the local hardware store, but we had to ask around. No one really understood what we were looking for.) I’ve asked a few people why they don’t better cold-proof their homes. This is one answer I got: “Well, winter’s only three months long. During the first month, people say to themselves, ‘Boy, it’s a bit chilly!’ During the second month, they say ‘We should really do something about the cold.’ But by the time the third month rolls around, they say, ‘There’s only one month left. It’s not that bad.’”
So, now that’s off my chest, I’m signing off. My fingers are cold and stiff, and the heated mattress-cover is calling my name.
Brrr!! We are, in Brandon’s words, FREAKING COLD!! It is eleven degrees in our lovely home right now. I am wearing long pants and a merino wool top in bed, Brandon has the covers pulled up to his chin and won’t resurface for ANY reason because, as he says, he’s FREAKING COLD!! You’d think we would be enjoying the mild winter, with daytime temperatures in the mid to high ‘teens (above zero!), but we’re having a hard time adjusting to the non-existent insulation, and the lack of indoor heating when the temperature dips to single-digits overnight. We’ve resorted to wearing layer upon layer of clothing, wearing slippers—which I have NEVER done before, considering my dislike of anything covering my toes—cranking up the heat on our eleven-fin oil heater, burying ourselves in blankets, baking like there’s no tomorrow, and eating chili and stew-like concoctions in an attempt to line our cold stomachs. Brandon took to turning on all four burners on the stove in order to heat the kitchen in the morning. In doing so, he melted my spoon-rest to the surface of the stove, not realizing that the burners were meant to have a pot or a pan on them to absorb the heat.
Far be it for us to complain about anything in New Zealand, but the chilly indoors are getting on our nerves. Kiwis respond to our comments about the chill by asking, “Isn’t it much colder in Canada?” Our response is simple, “It’s a lot easier to handle minus thirty when it’s 22 degrees inside.” Still, they do not understand. One co-worker, upon hearing about “central heating,” said that it must be nice to be able to drape your wet laundry on heaters all around the house. She didn’t understand that central heating means that warm air is pumped through vents in the ceiling or floor into every living space in the home. She also couldn’t believe that nearly all Canadians use a clothes dryer instead of a clothes line – even in the summer.
Most Kiwis have no concept of a cold, a real Canadian cold, but we’re surprised that they put up with the three months of “winter” here and don’t resort to double-paned windows, sealing doors, insulating walls etc. (We purchased that Saran-wrap-type stuff for our windows from the local hardware store, but we had to ask around. No one really understood what we were looking for.) I’ve asked a few people why they don’t better cold-proof their homes. This is one answer I got: “Well, winter’s only three months long. During the first month, people say to themselves, ‘Boy, it’s a bit chilly!’ During the second month, they say ‘We should really do something about the cold.’ But by the time the third month rolls around, they say, ‘There’s only one month left. It’s not that bad.’”
So, now that’s off my chest, I’m signing off. My fingers are cold and stiff, and the heated mattress-cover is calling my name.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
18 April 2009
What started as a mild bout of insomnia turned into a half-hazardly planned weekend trip to anywhere north of Auckland.
When I couldn’t sleep on Thursday night, I decided to look into some possible getaway destinations for the weekend. By getaway I don’t mean some flash B&B or a quaint countryside inn, but a $9/night campground. A $9/night seaside campground, that is. Whananaki Bay Campsite was our first destination.
Friday morning, we took the West Coast Scenic Highway through Hellensvile—beautiful country with roadside fruit and veggie stalls, posh vineyards and lots and lots of cattle and sheep paddocks. Then we met up with the main highway at Warkworth, then North through Wellsford to Whangarei. On the way we drove through some of the most stunning farmlands. Green, green, and more green! As far as the eye could see. Until it was blue, blue, and more blue!
In Whangarei we stopped for dinner at McMorrissey’s, a thoroughly Irish pub, complete with a foot-stomping fiddler, Angela-the-barmaid from County Tipperary, flashing neon shamrocks, and James Joyce’s Ulysses on a bookshelf above them all.
I’ve never tasted fish ‘n chips the likes of these, and I was pleased—for once—not to be the only patron enjoying her Guinness moustache. Looking back, I should’ve enjoyed a few more stout before we returned to the road. We drove 26km off the main highway toward the coast to Whananaki North and those 26km were hair-raising. I kept a firm grip on the dashboard as we took razor-sharp turns at a steep decline over and over and over again. In the dark. With no moon. Or stars.
When we finally arrived at the campground, I was shaking. Dean, the camp host, stuffed the last of his evening tea into his mouth and told me not to be nervous, ‘Cause if you’re nervous, you’re gonna make me nervous, an’ you don’ want me to be nervous. So I did my best to breathe deep.
Once inside, there wasn’t much for us to do. It was too dark to be outside (we weren’t allowed a fire), so we set up our beds in the back of the car and took turns reading Lamb out loud to each other before trying to fall asleep at about 8:30PM. (Great book, by the way, it’s by Christopher Moore – check it out.)
The next morning, we stumbled out of what can’t really be described as sleep, grabbed a banana and a granola bar, and walked 124 steps to the sea. No, the Ocean. The Pacific Ocean was right there beyond the soft, white sand. The waves were crashing fiercely as the wind whipped my hair around my face.
We stayed long enough for a couple photos and a few chilled steps out to sea before hopping in the car to drive back out the twenty-six deadly kilometers to Whangarei for lunch.
Café Narnia, complete with fur-coats and wardrobe, served dishes like “Aslan’s Breakfast” and “King Peter Burger.” There, I wolfed down a chicken burger followed by a flat white. But let me explain, in New Zealand, when you buy food at a café, it’s not like what you get back home. My burger had a whole, real, chicken breast marinated in Cajun spices. Slices of perfectly ripened avocado, as well as apricot chutney and brie, shared the bun with the chicken, fresh tomato, and lettuce. Perfection! Brandon had a creamy field mushroom and back-bacon Panini on brown with a plum chutney on the side. We love NZ cafés!
When we’d had our fill, we drove a few blocks to the entrance of a canopy walk which leads to the Whangarei Falls. You’d never know the 35 minute walk, which takes you through pasture-land as well as rainforest, is in the middle of the town. (Take a look at our facebook photos for more on this magical park.) But this stop was only a second-thought as we were headed for the Waipu Caves Walk twelve kilometers south of Whangarei. Unfortunately, this tramp turned out to be a dud. It was promising, though, starting in a sheep field in the middle of nowhere, the signs were clear: Waipu Caves. There were caves, but the walk was disappointing. After walking nearly an hour through farmers’ fields, hopping, then getting shocked by, electric fences, we found ourselves at one of the highest “peaks.” It afforded us a lovely view of the sea in the distance, but all we could think about were our burning thighs and throbbing hamstrings. So we descended.
Before leaving the Northlands, we spent a few minutes in the mouth of the Waipu Caves, spotting the bright azure lights of the glow-worms, marveling at how they really do look like stars.
But, our trip doesn’t end there. No trip is complete without a stop in a po-dunk town. The Town of Waipu and the bustling Scottish (?) Pizza Barn and a few pints of perspiring Monteiths put the finishing touches on our weekend away.
Now, we’re sitting in bed listening to the traffic on Great North Road. Brandon is uploading his 163 photos to facebook, stopping every few minutes to massage his thighs and ask me why they’re all tingly. If I’m lucky, I’ll dream of bleating lambs and lush green grass. But, if not, I’m grateful for my night-guard. Nasty sub-conscious that wants to torture me with nightmares of steep and narrow New Zealand roadways – bring it on!
Goodnight.
When I couldn’t sleep on Thursday night, I decided to look into some possible getaway destinations for the weekend. By getaway I don’t mean some flash B&B or a quaint countryside inn, but a $9/night campground. A $9/night seaside campground, that is. Whananaki Bay Campsite was our first destination.
Friday morning, we took the West Coast Scenic Highway through Hellensvile—beautiful country with roadside fruit and veggie stalls, posh vineyards and lots and lots of cattle and sheep paddocks. Then we met up with the main highway at Warkworth, then North through Wellsford to Whangarei. On the way we drove through some of the most stunning farmlands. Green, green, and more green! As far as the eye could see. Until it was blue, blue, and more blue!
In Whangarei we stopped for dinner at McMorrissey’s, a thoroughly Irish pub, complete with a foot-stomping fiddler, Angela-the-barmaid from County Tipperary, flashing neon shamrocks, and James Joyce’s Ulysses on a bookshelf above them all.
I’ve never tasted fish ‘n chips the likes of these, and I was pleased—for once—not to be the only patron enjoying her Guinness moustache. Looking back, I should’ve enjoyed a few more stout before we returned to the road. We drove 26km off the main highway toward the coast to Whananaki North and those 26km were hair-raising. I kept a firm grip on the dashboard as we took razor-sharp turns at a steep decline over and over and over again. In the dark. With no moon. Or stars.
When we finally arrived at the campground, I was shaking. Dean, the camp host, stuffed the last of his evening tea into his mouth and told me not to be nervous, ‘Cause if you’re nervous, you’re gonna make me nervous, an’ you don’ want me to be nervous. So I did my best to breathe deep.
Once inside, there wasn’t much for us to do. It was too dark to be outside (we weren’t allowed a fire), so we set up our beds in the back of the car and took turns reading Lamb out loud to each other before trying to fall asleep at about 8:30PM. (Great book, by the way, it’s by Christopher Moore – check it out.)
The next morning, we stumbled out of what can’t really be described as sleep, grabbed a banana and a granola bar, and walked 124 steps to the sea. No, the Ocean. The Pacific Ocean was right there beyond the soft, white sand. The waves were crashing fiercely as the wind whipped my hair around my face.
We stayed long enough for a couple photos and a few chilled steps out to sea before hopping in the car to drive back out the twenty-six deadly kilometers to Whangarei for lunch.
Café Narnia, complete with fur-coats and wardrobe, served dishes like “Aslan’s Breakfast” and “King Peter Burger.” There, I wolfed down a chicken burger followed by a flat white. But let me explain, in New Zealand, when you buy food at a café, it’s not like what you get back home. My burger had a whole, real, chicken breast marinated in Cajun spices. Slices of perfectly ripened avocado, as well as apricot chutney and brie, shared the bun with the chicken, fresh tomato, and lettuce. Perfection! Brandon had a creamy field mushroom and back-bacon Panini on brown with a plum chutney on the side. We love NZ cafés!
When we’d had our fill, we drove a few blocks to the entrance of a canopy walk which leads to the Whangarei Falls. You’d never know the 35 minute walk, which takes you through pasture-land as well as rainforest, is in the middle of the town. (Take a look at our facebook photos for more on this magical park.) But this stop was only a second-thought as we were headed for the Waipu Caves Walk twelve kilometers south of Whangarei. Unfortunately, this tramp turned out to be a dud. It was promising, though, starting in a sheep field in the middle of nowhere, the signs were clear: Waipu Caves. There were caves, but the walk was disappointing. After walking nearly an hour through farmers’ fields, hopping, then getting shocked by, electric fences, we found ourselves at one of the highest “peaks.” It afforded us a lovely view of the sea in the distance, but all we could think about were our burning thighs and throbbing hamstrings. So we descended.
Before leaving the Northlands, we spent a few minutes in the mouth of the Waipu Caves, spotting the bright azure lights of the glow-worms, marveling at how they really do look like stars.
But, our trip doesn’t end there. No trip is complete without a stop in a po-dunk town. The Town of Waipu and the bustling Scottish (?) Pizza Barn and a few pints of perspiring Monteiths put the finishing touches on our weekend away.
Now, we’re sitting in bed listening to the traffic on Great North Road. Brandon is uploading his 163 photos to facebook, stopping every few minutes to massage his thighs and ask me why they’re all tingly. If I’m lucky, I’ll dream of bleating lambs and lush green grass. But, if not, I’m grateful for my night-guard. Nasty sub-conscious that wants to torture me with nightmares of steep and narrow New Zealand roadways – bring it on!
Goodnight.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
12 April 2009
Brandon has just placed before me a steaming chai tea latté, a dusting of cinnamon sits on the foam which floats atop perfectly steeped chai tea. Just one of the many morning/afternoon/evening delights I’m treated to now.
An espresso maker – the Breville 800-series – is Brandon’s new baby. He sings the praises of “TradeMe,” a kiwi version of e-bay, where he purchased the six hundred dollar machine for two hundred. So, each morning when I step out of the shower, then into the chill of the hallway, I find a hot latté waiting for me in the hands of my husband.
Another of our TradeMe bargains is my new baby, a one-hundred year old Burling&Mansfield upright piano. For sixty-five dollars, I acquired the instrument I thought I’d have to wait years to own. But, as the price indicated, if it was a gem, it was hidden. Between cobwebs. Beneath the hundreds of spider carcasses which were entombed within its frame. However, a few hours of vacuuming, wiping, polishing, and the magic ears of a Scottish tuner have made a dream come true.
Now, when I come home from a long day at school, I drop my bag and head straight for the piano. Mozart’s Sonata in G Major, Bach’s Adagissimo and Sonfonia No. 15 in B Minor, it’s as if the stress flows out my fingers and is discarded somewhere between the harmony and the melody.
Enough of that – if you want to hear more, check out “Where the Music Comes From” on my creative writing blog (www.myurgentdeadline.blogspot.com).
Something that warms our hearts more than music or coffee is the correspondence we’ve received from home. Some friends here warned that as time passes, our friends in Canada will slowly forget about us. The principle of “out of sight, out of mind.” However, we were thrilled when Brandon’s Nana and Papa Goodkey sent us a card full of photos and a note full of love and well-wishes. We’ve also had word to watch for a care package in the post, a blessing even in anticipation.
But that reminds me, our hearts aren’t the only things that need warming. Our toes, our fingers, the tips of our noses, they’re all freezing. That’s not to say that it’s all that cold here in Autumn, it’s just that the temperature outside – be it ten degrees or fifteen or twenty – is the temperature inside. There is no insulation in the walls, the windows are single-paned, and we have no central heating. The other night, we were each wrapped in a mountain of blankets, wearing umpteen layers of clothing, and still, we couldn’t warm up. So, we’ve purchased a “column heater” with eleven fins, which slowly heats the room it’s in. Yet another kiwi quirk.
It’s now been three months. A quarter of a year. We miss you all and wish you were here.
An espresso maker – the Breville 800-series – is Brandon’s new baby. He sings the praises of “TradeMe,” a kiwi version of e-bay, where he purchased the six hundred dollar machine for two hundred. So, each morning when I step out of the shower, then into the chill of the hallway, I find a hot latté waiting for me in the hands of my husband.
Another of our TradeMe bargains is my new baby, a one-hundred year old Burling&Mansfield upright piano. For sixty-five dollars, I acquired the instrument I thought I’d have to wait years to own. But, as the price indicated, if it was a gem, it was hidden. Between cobwebs. Beneath the hundreds of spider carcasses which were entombed within its frame. However, a few hours of vacuuming, wiping, polishing, and the magic ears of a Scottish tuner have made a dream come true.
Now, when I come home from a long day at school, I drop my bag and head straight for the piano. Mozart’s Sonata in G Major, Bach’s Adagissimo and Sonfonia No. 15 in B Minor, it’s as if the stress flows out my fingers and is discarded somewhere between the harmony and the melody.
Enough of that – if you want to hear more, check out “Where the Music Comes From” on my creative writing blog (www.myurgentdeadline.blogspot.com).
Something that warms our hearts more than music or coffee is the correspondence we’ve received from home. Some friends here warned that as time passes, our friends in Canada will slowly forget about us. The principle of “out of sight, out of mind.” However, we were thrilled when Brandon’s Nana and Papa Goodkey sent us a card full of photos and a note full of love and well-wishes. We’ve also had word to watch for a care package in the post, a blessing even in anticipation.
But that reminds me, our hearts aren’t the only things that need warming. Our toes, our fingers, the tips of our noses, they’re all freezing. That’s not to say that it’s all that cold here in Autumn, it’s just that the temperature outside – be it ten degrees or fifteen or twenty – is the temperature inside. There is no insulation in the walls, the windows are single-paned, and we have no central heating. The other night, we were each wrapped in a mountain of blankets, wearing umpteen layers of clothing, and still, we couldn’t warm up. So, we’ve purchased a “column heater” with eleven fins, which slowly heats the room it’s in. Yet another kiwi quirk.
It’s now been three months. A quarter of a year. We miss you all and wish you were here.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Brandon's Post
It has occurred to me that Kristen has taken over OUR blog and you people have no idea what has been going on in my brain. Some of you might be thinking to yourself: “I didn’t think Brandon had a brain?” or “I can’t believe that Brandon is actually writing.” I would have to say Kristen has a way with words that I could only dream about acquiring. That being the case, this could be my one and only post. When the screen is covered with green and red squiggles, it can be a little discouraging. I have a lot to cover so hang on and enjoy the ride.
If you have read the previous posts, you will have read that it has been quite the adventure. If we were looking for an adventure, we sure got ourselves into one. My job situation has been a little peculiar. From landscaping, to being a Maintenance Officer, to a Builder’s helper, I have been able to get around Auckland, meet new people, and confirm what I learned at Alberco: Get a ticket! Being a labourer with the landscape company was just a job to pay the bills. But the maintenance officer position was an experience in itself.
Being a Maintenance Officer requires one to constantly be on one’s toes. We need to be the people the zig when everyone else zags. Our ability to be flexible and be masters of all trades is a necessity. Maintaining an educational facility is not only enabling leaders of our future to learn, but more importantly, to be able to defecate in a clean and sanitary bowl.
Weather plays a large part in what a Maintenance officer is able to accomplish. I found myself having a hard time keeping busy. The weather was either too hot to work hard, too humid, too cloudy, or too nice, too wet/rainy or too windy to work hard. The weather really held us up from getting our jobs done.
If, for some odd reason, we found ourselves in acceptable working conditions, we had a certain unspoken worker’s code of conduct: You can’t work too hard on Friday because you need to wind down for the weekend. Monday was never a good day because Monday is just a depressing day to be working. Tuesday is going to feel like a long day so you might as well take a few more breaks and Wednesday you celebrate with an extra long break because the week is half over. Thursday feels like the weekend is just at your fingertips so you better go get a cuppa coffee to cope. So, needless to say, I will miss being a maintenance officer at Pasadena Intermediate School. The staff and my maintenance superiors will forever hold a place in my heart.
I have been working for a builder for about a week and a half now and so far I like it. I can only think of the poor guys at Alberco who have no clue that there is more to life than work. It is truly a weird feeling to work for someone who actually wants to enjoy life and not have work kill you or your spirit while you are at it.
One of my goals in moving to NZ was to gain a better quality of life and I think I have found that. We only have a one bedroom flat on a noisy street. I don’t have a T.V. let alone LCD or Plasma. We went from two cars to one and the one we have now is a step down from the ones we had back home. (Man, I miss my 4X4.) I took a considerable pay cut and went from having lots of friends to few. Yet, I can get up in the morning and look forward to the day.
I love this place.
If you have read the previous posts, you will have read that it has been quite the adventure. If we were looking for an adventure, we sure got ourselves into one. My job situation has been a little peculiar. From landscaping, to being a Maintenance Officer, to a Builder’s helper, I have been able to get around Auckland, meet new people, and confirm what I learned at Alberco: Get a ticket! Being a labourer with the landscape company was just a job to pay the bills. But the maintenance officer position was an experience in itself.
Being a Maintenance Officer requires one to constantly be on one’s toes. We need to be the people the zig when everyone else zags. Our ability to be flexible and be masters of all trades is a necessity. Maintaining an educational facility is not only enabling leaders of our future to learn, but more importantly, to be able to defecate in a clean and sanitary bowl.
Weather plays a large part in what a Maintenance officer is able to accomplish. I found myself having a hard time keeping busy. The weather was either too hot to work hard, too humid, too cloudy, or too nice, too wet/rainy or too windy to work hard. The weather really held us up from getting our jobs done.
If, for some odd reason, we found ourselves in acceptable working conditions, we had a certain unspoken worker’s code of conduct: You can’t work too hard on Friday because you need to wind down for the weekend. Monday was never a good day because Monday is just a depressing day to be working. Tuesday is going to feel like a long day so you might as well take a few more breaks and Wednesday you celebrate with an extra long break because the week is half over. Thursday feels like the weekend is just at your fingertips so you better go get a cuppa coffee to cope. So, needless to say, I will miss being a maintenance officer at Pasadena Intermediate School. The staff and my maintenance superiors will forever hold a place in my heart.
I have been working for a builder for about a week and a half now and so far I like it. I can only think of the poor guys at Alberco who have no clue that there is more to life than work. It is truly a weird feeling to work for someone who actually wants to enjoy life and not have work kill you or your spirit while you are at it.
One of my goals in moving to NZ was to gain a better quality of life and I think I have found that. We only have a one bedroom flat on a noisy street. I don’t have a T.V. let alone LCD or Plasma. We went from two cars to one and the one we have now is a step down from the ones we had back home. (Man, I miss my 4X4.) I took a considerable pay cut and went from having lots of friends to few. Yet, I can get up in the morning and look forward to the day.
I love this place.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Real Life Sets In
It’s hard to believe how long it’s been since last I wrote. Already, I’m half-way through the first school term, which probably explains the speedy passage of time. The weekly “routine” of our lives consists of school, home, beach, and sleep. (The latter seems quite luxurious now that we’re sleeping in our own bed.) Lately I've been half-hazardly perusing University brochures, reassures me of a reprieve from the world of classroom procedures, discipline, counseling, planning, administration, mediation, and instruction. Still, I try to make the best of it – I’ve volunteered my class to spearhead the school’s organic garden project which involves composting, worm bins, as well as cultivation.
For Brandon, however, school is a reprieve. Before starting work on a home-building project at the end of the month, he is enjoying his role as “maintenance officer” at Pasadena Intermediate. He’s fixed a few doors and benches, hung some photos, supervised Outdoor Ed. week at Milford Beach, and chauffeured children to and from boating lessons at the local sailing club. Her,e we’d call that a “posh” job. So, although he’s eager to get on with building, his work so far hasn’t been too taxing.
The hum-drum of the week is made bearable only by our daily visits to the beach with a coffee or ice cream in hand. We relish our weekends. With our friends, Dale and Amber, we’ve explored the black-sand Karekare Beach, the Polynesian Avondale Market, and nearby Chinatown. We also share one takeaway meal per weekend – usually fish and chips from the Fish King in Howick, but last weekend it was authentic Indian from Sages Indian Restaurant down the street.
We’ve also expanded our horizons by venturing into different social situations. Two weeks ago, we visited a 19th-century Anglican church, St. Columba’s, complete with a meditative labyrinth and community vegetable garden. I enjoyed the sombre atmosphere—incense, wafer-and-wine communion, liturgy—as the ritual and rhythm are so different from the church I grew up in. As well, the reverend’s sermon was relevant and refreshing, and the vicar and members of the small parish were kind and welcoming, so I’m sure we’ll go again.
Last night (3 March), we attended a gathering of social and environmental activists called “Green Drinks” at Degree, a downtown “gastro bar.” We mixed and mingled with all sorts of people. I met Audrey, a former teacher cum legal transcript proofer who edits and writes for numerous local environmental newsletters. She introduced me to Nick, a middle-aged man with a perma-smile, who runs a website called “Fragile Planet” which brings together different environmental and human rights organizations in one space, as well as Robert, a strange fellow with little to say beyond a few repeated loud environmental clichés: “Save the whales!”
Then there was the race. I thought I’d signed up for a relaxing evening of wine and “nibbles” on a yacht. However, when Brandon told me of the plans he’d made with a co-worker, he failed to mention we were going to be in a race. So, around five, we taxied out of the Harbour Marina to join 130 other vessels competing in the course. After enjoying a quick brew, we were set to work. Well, what I did shouldn’t be called work. My job was to act as a counter-weight to the main sail, so each time we would “jib” or “jibe,” I had to crawl across the hull, careful not to be hit by the sail. The rest of the time, I hung my legs off the side of the yacht and enjoyed the rays of setting sun as they swept across the city. Brandon, on the other hand, was responsible for different ropes that would reign in or release another sail. He was kept busy running from one side of the cockpit to the other, adjusting the ropes by tightening the ratchets. Still, his labor earned him the privilege of steering the vessel once the race had ended. And as the seawater sprayed my bare legs and the last sliver of daylight slipped away, I sighed and was grateful for Aotearoa.
For Brandon, however, school is a reprieve. Before starting work on a home-building project at the end of the month, he is enjoying his role as “maintenance officer” at Pasadena Intermediate. He’s fixed a few doors and benches, hung some photos, supervised Outdoor Ed. week at Milford Beach, and chauffeured children to and from boating lessons at the local sailing club. Her,e we’d call that a “posh” job. So, although he’s eager to get on with building, his work so far hasn’t been too taxing.
The hum-drum of the week is made bearable only by our daily visits to the beach with a coffee or ice cream in hand. We relish our weekends. With our friends, Dale and Amber, we’ve explored the black-sand Karekare Beach, the Polynesian Avondale Market, and nearby Chinatown. We also share one takeaway meal per weekend – usually fish and chips from the Fish King in Howick, but last weekend it was authentic Indian from Sages Indian Restaurant down the street.
We’ve also expanded our horizons by venturing into different social situations. Two weeks ago, we visited a 19th-century Anglican church, St. Columba’s, complete with a meditative labyrinth and community vegetable garden. I enjoyed the sombre atmosphere—incense, wafer-and-wine communion, liturgy—as the ritual and rhythm are so different from the church I grew up in. As well, the reverend’s sermon was relevant and refreshing, and the vicar and members of the small parish were kind and welcoming, so I’m sure we’ll go again.
Last night (3 March), we attended a gathering of social and environmental activists called “Green Drinks” at Degree, a downtown “gastro bar.” We mixed and mingled with all sorts of people. I met Audrey, a former teacher cum legal transcript proofer who edits and writes for numerous local environmental newsletters. She introduced me to Nick, a middle-aged man with a perma-smile, who runs a website called “Fragile Planet” which brings together different environmental and human rights organizations in one space, as well as Robert, a strange fellow with little to say beyond a few repeated loud environmental clichés: “Save the whales!”
Then there was the race. I thought I’d signed up for a relaxing evening of wine and “nibbles” on a yacht. However, when Brandon told me of the plans he’d made with a co-worker, he failed to mention we were going to be in a race. So, around five, we taxied out of the Harbour Marina to join 130 other vessels competing in the course. After enjoying a quick brew, we were set to work. Well, what I did shouldn’t be called work. My job was to act as a counter-weight to the main sail, so each time we would “jib” or “jibe,” I had to crawl across the hull, careful not to be hit by the sail. The rest of the time, I hung my legs off the side of the yacht and enjoyed the rays of setting sun as they swept across the city. Brandon, on the other hand, was responsible for different ropes that would reign in or release another sail. He was kept busy running from one side of the cockpit to the other, adjusting the ropes by tightening the ratchets. Still, his labor earned him the privilege of steering the vessel once the race had ended. And as the seawater sprayed my bare legs and the last sliver of daylight slipped away, I sighed and was grateful for Aotearoa.
Monday, February 9, 2009
9 February 2009
What a weekend!
The past weekend was a long-weekend as it included Waitangi Day on Friday. Waitangi Day celebrates the day when the Maori chiefs signed a treaty making the maori people British subjects and giving them the privileges of British subjects. Odd, then, that on the holiday we should spend our evening enjoying a Chinese Lantern Festival instead of some type of Waitangi Celebration. Nonetheless, we enjoyed an evening downtown at Albert Park sampling asian food (including herbed egg, plum juice, coconut rolls and oil sticks) and surveying the numerous lantern displays.
Saturday was spent mainly in our neighborhood. I woke up early and painted for a few hours on our porch. (I’ve decided to try acrylic painting as a way to relax and express the beautiful sights here in NZ. My first painting was quite laughable, but the second is better.) Brandon and I prepared a BBQ of homemade burgers and roasted vegetables to share with our friends, Dale and Amber, who brought along the ginger-beer and fair-trade chocolate. We then spent a couple of hours at our local beach, Pt. Chevalier Beach, swimming in the warm water and soaking up some sun. We decided to leave when, somehow, Brandon and Dale managed to attract all the toddlers in the area. The two men were swarmed by pudgy little arms and legs of children wanting to play. It made me a bit uncomfortable, actually. In Canada, it’s unlikely that a parent would allow their four year-old daughter play in the ocean with complete strangers. But here, children are very friendly and not afraid of strangers, and parents have no qualms about leaving their children to play on their own.
Sunday was the highlight of the weekend, by far! We woke up “early” (around 7) and headed out of the city with Dale and Amber. Destination: Goat Island. It’s not actually an island, but an ocean wildlife reserve. We borrowed snorkel gear, donned our masks, snorkels and fins, and headed into the deep! At first, I was panicky and hyperventilated a bit, but it didn’t take long to get into the rhythm of swimming and breathing with my face under the water. Besides, I was distracted by the seaweed and abundance of snapper. We all got over our inhibitions and were soon diving below to get a closer view of the sea floor. In total, we spent a few hours floating around hoping our backs weren’t burning. On our second excursion, after a short snack break, we went out into choppier water where less people were snorkeling as well. There, we found much bigger fish, and realized that although the waves look threatening from the shore, they’re quite harmless when you’re face-down in the water. Also, we were worried about the boulders that line the shore, but found that they were the most interesting areas to explore, as they provided many hiding places for creatures of all kinds. You may wonder, were there any sharks? Probably. Somewhere. But the night before we watched a documentary called “Sharkwater” which dispelled many rumors about sharks, and even I, who fears even the smallest fish might nibble my toes, was able to swim about without worries.
We left Goat Island around 2PM and set out for Pakiri Beach, an incredible white-sand beach just opposite the shores of Goat Island. Pakiri Beach is also a marine reserve, and well-known surf beach. When we arrived, the tide was coming in, and we spent a lot of time body-surfing. The conditions were perfect, as the ocean floor is packed sand, so no slimy things to worry about, and the water was so clear that even in deep water you could see your feet. That is, if the waves didn’t crash around you creating a beautiful white froth.
It seems we keep having to pinch ourselves. Do we really live here? Because it seems we’re just on some extended exotic vacation. Is it truly possible that we can visit beaches like these every weekend, even every day? It all seems too good to be true and we truly wish you were here!
The past weekend was a long-weekend as it included Waitangi Day on Friday. Waitangi Day celebrates the day when the Maori chiefs signed a treaty making the maori people British subjects and giving them the privileges of British subjects. Odd, then, that on the holiday we should spend our evening enjoying a Chinese Lantern Festival instead of some type of Waitangi Celebration. Nonetheless, we enjoyed an evening downtown at Albert Park sampling asian food (including herbed egg, plum juice, coconut rolls and oil sticks) and surveying the numerous lantern displays.
Saturday was spent mainly in our neighborhood. I woke up early and painted for a few hours on our porch. (I’ve decided to try acrylic painting as a way to relax and express the beautiful sights here in NZ. My first painting was quite laughable, but the second is better.) Brandon and I prepared a BBQ of homemade burgers and roasted vegetables to share with our friends, Dale and Amber, who brought along the ginger-beer and fair-trade chocolate. We then spent a couple of hours at our local beach, Pt. Chevalier Beach, swimming in the warm water and soaking up some sun. We decided to leave when, somehow, Brandon and Dale managed to attract all the toddlers in the area. The two men were swarmed by pudgy little arms and legs of children wanting to play. It made me a bit uncomfortable, actually. In Canada, it’s unlikely that a parent would allow their four year-old daughter play in the ocean with complete strangers. But here, children are very friendly and not afraid of strangers, and parents have no qualms about leaving their children to play on their own.
Sunday was the highlight of the weekend, by far! We woke up “early” (around 7) and headed out of the city with Dale and Amber. Destination: Goat Island. It’s not actually an island, but an ocean wildlife reserve. We borrowed snorkel gear, donned our masks, snorkels and fins, and headed into the deep! At first, I was panicky and hyperventilated a bit, but it didn’t take long to get into the rhythm of swimming and breathing with my face under the water. Besides, I was distracted by the seaweed and abundance of snapper. We all got over our inhibitions and were soon diving below to get a closer view of the sea floor. In total, we spent a few hours floating around hoping our backs weren’t burning. On our second excursion, after a short snack break, we went out into choppier water where less people were snorkeling as well. There, we found much bigger fish, and realized that although the waves look threatening from the shore, they’re quite harmless when you’re face-down in the water. Also, we were worried about the boulders that line the shore, but found that they were the most interesting areas to explore, as they provided many hiding places for creatures of all kinds. You may wonder, were there any sharks? Probably. Somewhere. But the night before we watched a documentary called “Sharkwater” which dispelled many rumors about sharks, and even I, who fears even the smallest fish might nibble my toes, was able to swim about without worries.
We left Goat Island around 2PM and set out for Pakiri Beach, an incredible white-sand beach just opposite the shores of Goat Island. Pakiri Beach is also a marine reserve, and well-known surf beach. When we arrived, the tide was coming in, and we spent a lot of time body-surfing. The conditions were perfect, as the ocean floor is packed sand, so no slimy things to worry about, and the water was so clear that even in deep water you could see your feet. That is, if the waves didn’t crash around you creating a beautiful white froth.
It seems we keep having to pinch ourselves. Do we really live here? Because it seems we’re just on some extended exotic vacation. Is it truly possible that we can visit beaches like these every weekend, even every day? It all seems too good to be true and we truly wish you were here!
5 February 2009
Well, my sincerest apologies to those who check our blog frequently, it’s been too long since my last post.
As you can imagine, a lot has happened in the last two weeks. We made another trip out to Tirau to pick up the jandals (sandals) we left out there, we discovered the world’s greatest fish and chips in Howick (a suburb of Auckland), Brandon has experienced the ups and downs of labouring out of doors in NZ, I have learned the scary and painful truth about UV rays, and we discovered the world’s longest beach – Muriwai.
I also started school this week. I was quite apprehensive as I wasn’t really prepared in any way, shape, or form. I basically showed up a few days before classes started, cleaned and decorated my room, and waited for the students to arrive. When they did, I wasn’t prepared for this breed of pupil.
Here’s an anecdote to explain what I mean:
The morning of the first day, I was sitting at my desk working, and greeting the students who were wandering in early. One student, I’ll call him Bobby, approached me and said, “Good morning, Miss, my name is Bobby, how were your holidays?” I told him they were wonderful. He proceeded to say, “Well, welcome to Pasadena, Miss.” I said, “Thank you.” Then, a small boy in year 7 arrived with his mother. When his mother had left, Bobby approached him and introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Bobby, what’s your name?” “Chris,” he replied. “Welcome to Pasadena, Chris. How were your holidays?”
Any of you who are teachers, or come into close contact with pre-teens on a daily basis, will know that this behaviour is highly unlikely in a Canadian classroom. To be honest, I thought Bobby was just really good at being facetious and I wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown at him.
Then, when my students had all arrived, I said, “Good morning, class” and was about to continue speaking when, in unison, they replied, “Good morning, Miss.” I was momentarily stunned, but managed to continue.
Of course, it’s not all gum drops and “lollies,” there are a few clowns and trouble-makers, as well as a 6-foot, 300lb, 11 year-old samoan boy who constantly asks, “Miss, can I go toilet?” (Yes, “go toilet.” Some students just make the time-out symbol which apparently means “toilet.” So weird!)
Also, I sometimes have a hard time understanding my students, as well as fellow staff, thanks to the accent. I’m continuously saying, “Pardon me?”
Still, it seems I have a lot to look forward to. In the next few weeks I get to accompany my students on a sailing trip in the harbour, and their outdoor ed. week consists of kayaking, rock-climbing, sail-boarding, and numerous other activities that could be considered “extreme sports.”
In the meantime, I’m the quiet new teacher who spends all her time in her classroom. I probably won’t emerge for a few months – that’s just the way it goes. Besides, I miss my friends from school terribly and am not ready to make other school friends.
And if this school-related post sounds quite positive, let’s hope that’s the trend. We’ll see in a few weeks, I guess. Until later…
As you can imagine, a lot has happened in the last two weeks. We made another trip out to Tirau to pick up the jandals (sandals) we left out there, we discovered the world’s greatest fish and chips in Howick (a suburb of Auckland), Brandon has experienced the ups and downs of labouring out of doors in NZ, I have learned the scary and painful truth about UV rays, and we discovered the world’s longest beach – Muriwai.
I also started school this week. I was quite apprehensive as I wasn’t really prepared in any way, shape, or form. I basically showed up a few days before classes started, cleaned and decorated my room, and waited for the students to arrive. When they did, I wasn’t prepared for this breed of pupil.
Here’s an anecdote to explain what I mean:
The morning of the first day, I was sitting at my desk working, and greeting the students who were wandering in early. One student, I’ll call him Bobby, approached me and said, “Good morning, Miss, my name is Bobby, how were your holidays?” I told him they were wonderful. He proceeded to say, “Well, welcome to Pasadena, Miss.” I said, “Thank you.” Then, a small boy in year 7 arrived with his mother. When his mother had left, Bobby approached him and introduced himself, “Hi, I’m Bobby, what’s your name?” “Chris,” he replied. “Welcome to Pasadena, Chris. How were your holidays?”
Any of you who are teachers, or come into close contact with pre-teens on a daily basis, will know that this behaviour is highly unlikely in a Canadian classroom. To be honest, I thought Bobby was just really good at being facetious and I wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown at him.
Then, when my students had all arrived, I said, “Good morning, class” and was about to continue speaking when, in unison, they replied, “Good morning, Miss.” I was momentarily stunned, but managed to continue.
Of course, it’s not all gum drops and “lollies,” there are a few clowns and trouble-makers, as well as a 6-foot, 300lb, 11 year-old samoan boy who constantly asks, “Miss, can I go toilet?” (Yes, “go toilet.” Some students just make the time-out symbol which apparently means “toilet.” So weird!)
Also, I sometimes have a hard time understanding my students, as well as fellow staff, thanks to the accent. I’m continuously saying, “Pardon me?”
Still, it seems I have a lot to look forward to. In the next few weeks I get to accompany my students on a sailing trip in the harbour, and their outdoor ed. week consists of kayaking, rock-climbing, sail-boarding, and numerous other activities that could be considered “extreme sports.”
In the meantime, I’m the quiet new teacher who spends all her time in her classroom. I probably won’t emerge for a few months – that’s just the way it goes. Besides, I miss my friends from school terribly and am not ready to make other school friends.
And if this school-related post sounds quite positive, let’s hope that’s the trend. We’ll see in a few weeks, I guess. Until later…
14 January 2009
Today was an adventure indeed. After waking up and checking out of what was our home for the week, we picked up my new bike (an Electra Townie, 21spd, white) loaded it in our car, and drove to our new home. There, we quickly ditched the bike and went to meet our friends Dale and Amber at their house before heading off to the beach. Unfortunately, my navigating skills took us to Nevis Place instead of Ben Nevis Place, so we were about half an hour late. From their place, we drove through winding country roads covered in sheep, cows, and horses before arriving at the beach. We feasted on roasted chicken an veggies while waiting for the tide to recede enough to expose a path between the mainland and an island about a kilometer out to sea. When we finally set out, we were all well-fed, lathered in sunscreen, and excited by the prospect of the sand-dollars which are said to hide in the warm sand.
However, the trek wasn’t as simple as expected. We had to cross long stretches of lichen-covered rock which were very slippery. I fell twice, each time letting out a loud “WHOOP!” Dale thought the beach should be re-named “Whoop Beach” because of my antics.
Once we reached the uninhabited island, we followed a set of stairs to the plateau. There, instead of lush greenery and a great view, we found thick, sharp grasses, thistle bushes and spider webs. Nonetheless, we braved the jungle in an attempt to cross to the other side. We were disappointed to be halted by a dead-end, and in our bathing suits and flip-flops, there was no possibility of bush-whacking.
On the way back to the beach, we checked out a marooned and abandoned boat named “Orca,” and picked up half a dozen sand-dollars. I opted to walk closer to the water to avoid the deadly lichen, and it occurred to me that the waves, the sun, the sand, it all reminded me of one of the happiest times of my life: my honeymoon. I always speak of it as a magical time where Brandon and I did nothing but enjoy ourselves. Of course, this is no honeymoon. But the fact that such a beautiful place is so close to what is now our home makes me so grateful to be here. I hope that ocean views and sandy beaches never become commonplace in my life. If they do, I guess it’ll be time to move on.
Wish you were here!
However, the trek wasn’t as simple as expected. We had to cross long stretches of lichen-covered rock which were very slippery. I fell twice, each time letting out a loud “WHOOP!” Dale thought the beach should be re-named “Whoop Beach” because of my antics.
Once we reached the uninhabited island, we followed a set of stairs to the plateau. There, instead of lush greenery and a great view, we found thick, sharp grasses, thistle bushes and spider webs. Nonetheless, we braved the jungle in an attempt to cross to the other side. We were disappointed to be halted by a dead-end, and in our bathing suits and flip-flops, there was no possibility of bush-whacking.
On the way back to the beach, we checked out a marooned and abandoned boat named “Orca,” and picked up half a dozen sand-dollars. I opted to walk closer to the water to avoid the deadly lichen, and it occurred to me that the waves, the sun, the sand, it all reminded me of one of the happiest times of my life: my honeymoon. I always speak of it as a magical time where Brandon and I did nothing but enjoy ourselves. Of course, this is no honeymoon. But the fact that such a beautiful place is so close to what is now our home makes me so grateful to be here. I hope that ocean views and sandy beaches never become commonplace in my life. If they do, I guess it’ll be time to move on.
Wish you were here!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
15 January and Onward
(I realise now that I also have a blog entry for 14 January, but I left it at home, so that will come later. We don't have the internet hooked up at our home yet, so I'm using the local library computer.)
Here’s a quick re-cap of the last few days :
15 January 2009
We purchased a fridge and washer at an appliance store called Bond-Bond. Both were over-priced by Canadian standards, but we’re learning that’s the way it goes here. We didn’t buy a clothes dryer, partly because of the space issue (we’re limited), partly because not many kiwis buy them – they just hang their clothes outside all year, so that’s what we’re going to try.
Once “at home” in Pt. Chevalier (look it up on Google Earth), we went for a walk in Western Springs Park, a huge park just a block and a half away. The trails cover a few good kilometers and circle a lake, a few ponds, and some creeks. The park is teeming with geese of all kinds, eels, rabbits, even chicken! It’s practically a zoo, and quite near one. The Auckland Zoo and MOTAT (Museum of Transportation and Technology) are on the same property. We’re very lucky to be so near these attractions!
After applying yet another layer of sunscreen, we decided to walk to the tip of Pt. Chevalier and check out the coastline there. After a thirty-minute stroll, we came to a sailing club where people of all ages and colors were taking to the surf with their sail-boards. There wasn’t much of a beach, but the view of the sea was beautiful.
From there, we drove across the Auckland Harbour Bridge to the North Shore and a beach called Takapuna Beach. We were directed there by the nice man at the sail-board shop. We parked a block from the shore and found, to my delight, the first beach beach, complete with sunbathers, surfers, picknickers and barbequers. The beach isn’t lined with a boardwalk, but with privately owned beach properties which open directly onto the sand. There, I soaked up some rays and collected some beautiful tortoise-like shells.
For dinner, we checked out the Fish’N Chip shop down the street. Sadly, though, they didn’t sell any ketchup, so I had my first experience with fries and tomato sauce – yuck!
16 January 2009
Today our appliances were delivered by a friendly maori chap who welcomed us to NZ as well as instructed us on the proper set-up of our fridge and washer.
We enjoyed another stroll through Western Springs Park, then ate our first home-cooked meal. It was a tad make-shift: I cut the veggies with Brandon’s switchblade, and we had to use a t-shirt as an oven-mitt, but in the end we had chicken kebabs and roasted veggies.
Another first was a delightful one. I hung our clothes on the clothes-horse beside the house. I can’t explain why it gives me such pleasure to hang my clothes to dry, but it does. For now, at least, it’s novel, but I’ll let you know if I still enjoy it in the dead of winter.
We also met our back-neighbors, a maori woman and her two year-old son. Both were very friendly, and we look forward to spending more time with them.
17 January 2009
After a quick breakfast of Nutella and banana toast with tea, we set out on our first road trip. We took the main highway south out of Auckland, through Hamilton, then Cambridge, to a town called Tirau. The town is surrounded by pastures which are home to Thoroughbred champions, sheep, red deer, cattle, and dairy cows. We were there visiting Aidan and Joe Richards. (Brandon went to Capernwray with Aidan in 2003.) Joe works as a nurse in nearby Hamilton, and Aidan manages the dairy farm they live on.
We were greeted with a warm welcome; Joe took us to an ice cream parlour featuring the famous Manukau honey ice cream, then to a natural spring a few minutes out of town down a winding road. Later that night we played Dutch Blitz and enjoyed the starry sky before sleeping soundly in their guest-room.
18 January 2009 – YOU DON’T WANT TO MISS THIS ONE
After a quick breakfast, we joined Joe and Aidan at their hometown church, then dined at the local café before heading home to milk the cows. Yes. Milk the cows.
I’d mentioned the night before that it might be cool to help Aidan with his work. However, I wasn’t about to wake up at 5 in the morning to do the early milking, so we settled on the afternoon. We donned some grubbies and mud-boots and headed out to the “shed” where Aidan and his helper had herded some 350 dairy cows.
Now, here’s the set-up: The milking shed is a long building, about 30 metres, covered, but with no walls. Down the centre is a lowered walkway where the milking apparatus’ are hung. Along either side of the walkway is a raised platform, at about shoulder height, lined with a rail shaped to create “butt-stalls” (my term). So, the frightened, filthy, poo-covered cows are herded down the platforms and, one by one, they fit their hind-quarters into the appropriate stalls (kind of like angle parking for cows). We, the milkers, are on the lower walkway, and for 30 metres on either side are cow butts.
Aidan was quick to warn us to watch out for lifting tails, but the cows were quicker. Not five minutes into my milking adventure, did a cow take a slimy, explosive dump right beside me, and I was sprayed with cow dung. In my ear. On my eyebrow. BESIDE MY LIP! But, I guess that just broke the ice. Over the course of an hour and a half, about twenty other cows did their messy business. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. There was real work to be done. When one row of cows was ushered in, we’d attach suction tubes to their teats. When their utters were empty, the suction machines automatically released, then the teats needed to be sprayed with an anti-bacterial solution to prevent infections. While one row of cows was being milked, another row was being ushered in, so, back and forth, we milked 350 cows in an hour and a half. However, it wasn’t as smooth as it sounds. It took me a while to be able to bravely stick my hand between the hind-legs of these huge animals whose buttholes were so close to my head. Some of them would stamp their feet, and more than once I was slapped when a cow swished its crap-encrusted tail. At first, all the poop bothered me. One chunk would land on my forearm and I’d freak out, then I got a whole streak across my shoulder, then, before I knew it, I was covered in poop. But, I was beyond caring. After all, it was inevitable. There wasn’t an inch of the milking barn spared the stain of shit and piss. Every time I grabbed a milking apparatus, I was grabbing it through a layer of poo. Every time I urged a cow on by slapping its thigh, I was slapping crusty poo. I shlupped up and down the walkway through an inch and a half of poo, I wiped poo off my face with a t-shirt covered in poo. Everywhere. Poo.
And it wasn’t just gross, it was dangerous. At one point, a cow slipped on – yes – poo, and fell into the lower walkway. The beast was so panicked, she kept trying to climb back up to the platform, but her fellow cows kept walking – into her, over her – she didn’t have a chance. It was quite frightening to watch her slipping around on her skinny little legs before finally being coaxed (none too kindly) out a separate exit. Without a doubt she’ll be sore tomorrow. And she wasn’t the only one; another cow fell, but thankfully there were no other cows around to trample on her.
I couldn’t help but think that the cows were pretty stupid. After all, they’re milked the same way, twice a day, every day, yet they still enter the milking shed like it’s their first time: wild-eyed. They push each other around. They will run wildly down the crap-covered concrete given half a chance (imagine trying to sprint down a slip-and-slide with four legs instead of two). Not to mention their lack of self-respect. They mosey around with some other cow’s crap all over their faces. They do their business whenever and wherever. They even nuzzle their noses in it while they wait in the pen. Disgusting.
Still, I quite enjoyed – no, “enjoyed” isn’t the right word – let’s just say it was a learning experience that was full of laughter. After all, it’s hard to keep a straight face when you’re covered in crap from head to toe.
Here’s a quick re-cap of the last few days :
15 January 2009
We purchased a fridge and washer at an appliance store called Bond-Bond. Both were over-priced by Canadian standards, but we’re learning that’s the way it goes here. We didn’t buy a clothes dryer, partly because of the space issue (we’re limited), partly because not many kiwis buy them – they just hang their clothes outside all year, so that’s what we’re going to try.
Once “at home” in Pt. Chevalier (look it up on Google Earth), we went for a walk in Western Springs Park, a huge park just a block and a half away. The trails cover a few good kilometers and circle a lake, a few ponds, and some creeks. The park is teeming with geese of all kinds, eels, rabbits, even chicken! It’s practically a zoo, and quite near one. The Auckland Zoo and MOTAT (Museum of Transportation and Technology) are on the same property. We’re very lucky to be so near these attractions!
After applying yet another layer of sunscreen, we decided to walk to the tip of Pt. Chevalier and check out the coastline there. After a thirty-minute stroll, we came to a sailing club where people of all ages and colors were taking to the surf with their sail-boards. There wasn’t much of a beach, but the view of the sea was beautiful.
From there, we drove across the Auckland Harbour Bridge to the North Shore and a beach called Takapuna Beach. We were directed there by the nice man at the sail-board shop. We parked a block from the shore and found, to my delight, the first beach beach, complete with sunbathers, surfers, picknickers and barbequers. The beach isn’t lined with a boardwalk, but with privately owned beach properties which open directly onto the sand. There, I soaked up some rays and collected some beautiful tortoise-like shells.
For dinner, we checked out the Fish’N Chip shop down the street. Sadly, though, they didn’t sell any ketchup, so I had my first experience with fries and tomato sauce – yuck!
16 January 2009
Today our appliances were delivered by a friendly maori chap who welcomed us to NZ as well as instructed us on the proper set-up of our fridge and washer.
We enjoyed another stroll through Western Springs Park, then ate our first home-cooked meal. It was a tad make-shift: I cut the veggies with Brandon’s switchblade, and we had to use a t-shirt as an oven-mitt, but in the end we had chicken kebabs and roasted veggies.
Another first was a delightful one. I hung our clothes on the clothes-horse beside the house. I can’t explain why it gives me such pleasure to hang my clothes to dry, but it does. For now, at least, it’s novel, but I’ll let you know if I still enjoy it in the dead of winter.
We also met our back-neighbors, a maori woman and her two year-old son. Both were very friendly, and we look forward to spending more time with them.
17 January 2009
After a quick breakfast of Nutella and banana toast with tea, we set out on our first road trip. We took the main highway south out of Auckland, through Hamilton, then Cambridge, to a town called Tirau. The town is surrounded by pastures which are home to Thoroughbred champions, sheep, red deer, cattle, and dairy cows. We were there visiting Aidan and Joe Richards. (Brandon went to Capernwray with Aidan in 2003.) Joe works as a nurse in nearby Hamilton, and Aidan manages the dairy farm they live on.
We were greeted with a warm welcome; Joe took us to an ice cream parlour featuring the famous Manukau honey ice cream, then to a natural spring a few minutes out of town down a winding road. Later that night we played Dutch Blitz and enjoyed the starry sky before sleeping soundly in their guest-room.
18 January 2009 – YOU DON’T WANT TO MISS THIS ONE
After a quick breakfast, we joined Joe and Aidan at their hometown church, then dined at the local café before heading home to milk the cows. Yes. Milk the cows.
I’d mentioned the night before that it might be cool to help Aidan with his work. However, I wasn’t about to wake up at 5 in the morning to do the early milking, so we settled on the afternoon. We donned some grubbies and mud-boots and headed out to the “shed” where Aidan and his helper had herded some 350 dairy cows.
Now, here’s the set-up: The milking shed is a long building, about 30 metres, covered, but with no walls. Down the centre is a lowered walkway where the milking apparatus’ are hung. Along either side of the walkway is a raised platform, at about shoulder height, lined with a rail shaped to create “butt-stalls” (my term). So, the frightened, filthy, poo-covered cows are herded down the platforms and, one by one, they fit their hind-quarters into the appropriate stalls (kind of like angle parking for cows). We, the milkers, are on the lower walkway, and for 30 metres on either side are cow butts.
Aidan was quick to warn us to watch out for lifting tails, but the cows were quicker. Not five minutes into my milking adventure, did a cow take a slimy, explosive dump right beside me, and I was sprayed with cow dung. In my ear. On my eyebrow. BESIDE MY LIP! But, I guess that just broke the ice. Over the course of an hour and a half, about twenty other cows did their messy business. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. There was real work to be done. When one row of cows was ushered in, we’d attach suction tubes to their teats. When their utters were empty, the suction machines automatically released, then the teats needed to be sprayed with an anti-bacterial solution to prevent infections. While one row of cows was being milked, another row was being ushered in, so, back and forth, we milked 350 cows in an hour and a half. However, it wasn’t as smooth as it sounds. It took me a while to be able to bravely stick my hand between the hind-legs of these huge animals whose buttholes were so close to my head. Some of them would stamp their feet, and more than once I was slapped when a cow swished its crap-encrusted tail. At first, all the poop bothered me. One chunk would land on my forearm and I’d freak out, then I got a whole streak across my shoulder, then, before I knew it, I was covered in poop. But, I was beyond caring. After all, it was inevitable. There wasn’t an inch of the milking barn spared the stain of shit and piss. Every time I grabbed a milking apparatus, I was grabbing it through a layer of poo. Every time I urged a cow on by slapping its thigh, I was slapping crusty poo. I shlupped up and down the walkway through an inch and a half of poo, I wiped poo off my face with a t-shirt covered in poo. Everywhere. Poo.
And it wasn’t just gross, it was dangerous. At one point, a cow slipped on – yes – poo, and fell into the lower walkway. The beast was so panicked, she kept trying to climb back up to the platform, but her fellow cows kept walking – into her, over her – she didn’t have a chance. It was quite frightening to watch her slipping around on her skinny little legs before finally being coaxed (none too kindly) out a separate exit. Without a doubt she’ll be sore tomorrow. And she wasn’t the only one; another cow fell, but thankfully there were no other cows around to trample on her.
I couldn’t help but think that the cows were pretty stupid. After all, they’re milked the same way, twice a day, every day, yet they still enter the milking shed like it’s their first time: wild-eyed. They push each other around. They will run wildly down the crap-covered concrete given half a chance (imagine trying to sprint down a slip-and-slide with four legs instead of two). Not to mention their lack of self-respect. They mosey around with some other cow’s crap all over their faces. They do their business whenever and wherever. They even nuzzle their noses in it while they wait in the pen. Disgusting.
Still, I quite enjoyed – no, “enjoyed” isn’t the right word – let’s just say it was a learning experience that was full of laughter. After all, it’s hard to keep a straight face when you’re covered in crap from head to toe.
Monday, January 12, 2009
More NZ Fun
Well, it’s 13 January, and after four whole days, we’ve accomplished a lot.
On Sunday we bought our first kiwi car, a green 1992 Toyota Corona, 4-door hatchback, automatic (because it’s so hilly here), equipped with A/C, cruise, CD player, sunroof/moonroof, automatic locks/windows, and a deafening alarm system. It was the first car I’ve driven in NZ as until now Brandon has been doing all the driving and I’ve been his trusty navigator. I was a little, okay, a lot nervous, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as I predicted. It’s a little strange getting used to sitting on the right-hand side because it’s hard to gauge how wide the car is. I did kind of jump a curb just a little while driving around my first round-about (traffic circle). Also, the turning signal switch is on the right side and not the left, so I keep turning on my windshield wipers, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it. At least I haven’t crashed yet. Like Brandon. Yes, he drove right into the concrete-block wall surrounding our hotel. CRUNCH! And just like that we’ve got a dent—a big one—by our right-hand spot (headlight). He’s trying to make up for it right now by waxing the car with this $40 spray he was tricked into buying at the market yesterday. Be sure to harass him whenever you get the chance!
We met with our real estate agent today and confirmed our rental agreement for the cute one-bedroom three blocks from school. I’ll be posting pictures on facebook as soon as I get a chance. We’re thrilled to move in, even with our bare-bones supplies. We’ll be glad to get out of our small room at the Lodge. It’s extremely muggy and all my clothes feel damp. Thankfully, our new home has this system that de-humidifies the air and keeps things relatively dry. Oh, and for any of you interested in sending us letters, cards, sunscreen (it costs upwards around $25 for a regular sized bottle), or Kraft Dinner, our new address is:
#1 1063 Great North Road
Pt. Chevalier 1022
Auckland
New Zealand
And my phone number is:
(if dialing from a landline) 0064 21 660 308
(if dialing from a mobile) +64 21 660 308
It’s free for us to receive incoming calls, and some calling cards are as cheap as $10/1000 minutes. Just keep in mind the time difference, we are 20hrs ahead of Alberta time.
In other news, we’ve truly been amazed at the friendliness of kiwis. Here are a few examples:
Michelle, the woman we bought our car from, took us out to her balcony yesterday, hauled us on top of her patio table, and explained to us the view from there: the bay, Auckland central, One Tree Hill, the War Memorial, etc. She thought it would be easier for us to understand the city if we could see it. She also gave us a pot and two towels to get us started at our new home until our things arrive. She blew us away with her kindness.
Then, we were driving along when a cop on a BMW motorbike pulled up beside us. Brandon panicked and wondered what he was doing wrong, when in fact, the cop saw me with my map and wondered if we needed him to guide us somewhere. Of course, I had everything under control and didn’t need his help, but we were grateful for the offer.
Finally, the guy at the bank who set up our car insurance (which, by the way, costs $341 per year total!) told us about some ten cool hiking and sight-seeing destinations in and around Auckland. He even described the directions! So, if we weren’t already feeling all warm and fuzzy from all the kind people, we got to spend an evening with the Nichols and Amber and Dale, our new Canadian cum-kiwi friends.
Kevin and Cheryl Nichol are the pastor and wife from Peachland, B.C. Besides lavishing us with their hospitality, friendship, and a delicious BBQ, Cheryl lent us two foamies, a sheet, some blankets, as well as some plates, cups, bowls and cutlery. We played Cranium “Whoonu” to get to know each other better, and had some great conversation around the dinner table. We also got to meet two of their three daughters, Danae and Mackenzie, both of whom are delightfully charming.
Also at the BBQ was Amber and Dale, a B.C. couple who moved to NZ two months ago after spending a few years teaching English in China. Amber and I definitely have some things in common, and the boys, well, give them a rugby ball and they’ll bond in no time. We have plans to visit a beach together tomorrow, so that’ll be fun.
Well, that’s enough for now. We love to read your comments and feedback. We’ve been warned that over time people at home will forget about us, but we hope that’s not the case.
We love you all!
On Sunday we bought our first kiwi car, a green 1992 Toyota Corona, 4-door hatchback, automatic (because it’s so hilly here), equipped with A/C, cruise, CD player, sunroof/moonroof, automatic locks/windows, and a deafening alarm system. It was the first car I’ve driven in NZ as until now Brandon has been doing all the driving and I’ve been his trusty navigator. I was a little, okay, a lot nervous, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as I predicted. It’s a little strange getting used to sitting on the right-hand side because it’s hard to gauge how wide the car is. I did kind of jump a curb just a little while driving around my first round-about (traffic circle). Also, the turning signal switch is on the right side and not the left, so I keep turning on my windshield wipers, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it. At least I haven’t crashed yet. Like Brandon. Yes, he drove right into the concrete-block wall surrounding our hotel. CRUNCH! And just like that we’ve got a dent—a big one—by our right-hand spot (headlight). He’s trying to make up for it right now by waxing the car with this $40 spray he was tricked into buying at the market yesterday. Be sure to harass him whenever you get the chance!
We met with our real estate agent today and confirmed our rental agreement for the cute one-bedroom three blocks from school. I’ll be posting pictures on facebook as soon as I get a chance. We’re thrilled to move in, even with our bare-bones supplies. We’ll be glad to get out of our small room at the Lodge. It’s extremely muggy and all my clothes feel damp. Thankfully, our new home has this system that de-humidifies the air and keeps things relatively dry. Oh, and for any of you interested in sending us letters, cards, sunscreen (it costs upwards around $25 for a regular sized bottle), or Kraft Dinner, our new address is:
#1 1063 Great North Road
Pt. Chevalier 1022
Auckland
New Zealand
And my phone number is:
(if dialing from a landline) 0064 21 660 308
(if dialing from a mobile) +64 21 660 308
It’s free for us to receive incoming calls, and some calling cards are as cheap as $10/1000 minutes. Just keep in mind the time difference, we are 20hrs ahead of Alberta time.
In other news, we’ve truly been amazed at the friendliness of kiwis. Here are a few examples:
Michelle, the woman we bought our car from, took us out to her balcony yesterday, hauled us on top of her patio table, and explained to us the view from there: the bay, Auckland central, One Tree Hill, the War Memorial, etc. She thought it would be easier for us to understand the city if we could see it. She also gave us a pot and two towels to get us started at our new home until our things arrive. She blew us away with her kindness.
Then, we were driving along when a cop on a BMW motorbike pulled up beside us. Brandon panicked and wondered what he was doing wrong, when in fact, the cop saw me with my map and wondered if we needed him to guide us somewhere. Of course, I had everything under control and didn’t need his help, but we were grateful for the offer.
Finally, the guy at the bank who set up our car insurance (which, by the way, costs $341 per year total!) told us about some ten cool hiking and sight-seeing destinations in and around Auckland. He even described the directions! So, if we weren’t already feeling all warm and fuzzy from all the kind people, we got to spend an evening with the Nichols and Amber and Dale, our new Canadian cum-kiwi friends.
Kevin and Cheryl Nichol are the pastor and wife from Peachland, B.C. Besides lavishing us with their hospitality, friendship, and a delicious BBQ, Cheryl lent us two foamies, a sheet, some blankets, as well as some plates, cups, bowls and cutlery. We played Cranium “Whoonu” to get to know each other better, and had some great conversation around the dinner table. We also got to meet two of their three daughters, Danae and Mackenzie, both of whom are delightfully charming.
Also at the BBQ was Amber and Dale, a B.C. couple who moved to NZ two months ago after spending a few years teaching English in China. Amber and I definitely have some things in common, and the boys, well, give them a rugby ball and they’ll bond in no time. We have plans to visit a beach together tomorrow, so that’ll be fun.
Well, that’s enough for now. We love to read your comments and feedback. We’ve been warned that over time people at home will forget about us, but we hope that’s not the case.
We love you all!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Day Two
This morning started early with Brandon waking up at 7am – a shocker since I’m usually the early-bird (early being a relative term.) Brandon ran across the street to a small “dairy” (corner grocer) to buy bread, nutella and some fresh NZ fruit. He brought back the biggest, sweetest kiwi I’ve ever tasted, which I preferred to the moist, spongy quality of the bread.
After a frustrating hour on the computer trying to figure out how to put a slideshow on the blog, we set out for Pt. Chevalier to look around at potential properties.
Sadly, it was a very cloudy day, but my skin is thriving in the warm humidity.
We walked around Pt. Chev. for about four hours, exploring the many shops lining the streets: everywhere you turn there is a new delicatessen or bakery or butcher or produce shop, not to mention the cafés. Throughout the city, in fact, you’d be hard-pressed to find any duplicate shops – every one is unique.
In the afternoon, we treated ourselves to mince and steak pies from a small pastry shop before making our first trek to the beach which is a mere 2km from a potential residence. And despite the cloud-cover, I was thrilled to finally see the ocean.
After following a raised plank footpath through dense vegetation, we reached the shoreline. The park and beach were deserted except for a young maori girl’s birthday party which was taking place at the playground.
It was low-tide, so the water was about half a kilometer from the shore. As we set out, I was surprised to find that, instead of sand, the ground was covered in seashells. Millions and millions of them. Every step we took resulted in the crunch-crunch of breaking shells. Sadly, we were running short on time and had to turn back before reaching the water, but the salty smell and the warm wet air were enough to sate my desire for the ocean.
We viewed two properties today. One was absolutely hideous: a mouldy bathroom, bubbling carpet, and dirty kitchen (the cupboards were lined with stale arrowroot cookies and grains of rice.) The second, well, let’s just say it was love at first sight.
Every window is decorated with stained glass in this circa 1940 house. A large veranda greeted us before we walked through the front door. Once inside we were awed by the 10-foot ceilings and the decorative moulding that covered them. The floors were all polished wood, and the walls were painted neutrally, except for a stunning feature wall the color of wine. The kitchen was clean and equipped with many tall cupboards. The bathroom, er, toilet, was also clean and white with room enough to spare. The master (and only) bedroom was easily a room and a half, again with polished wood floors and a wardrobe that reached the ceiling. (I’ll definitely need a footstool.)
So, we’ve received the application and will be submitting it on Monday, hoping to move in next week. And besides the lovely architecture and design, the house is three blocks from my school, and across the street from a grocer, butcher, and bakery.
Finally, after spending so much time walking, we returned to our hotel and went for dinner. We ate at a pizzeria called La Pancetta which was full to the brim. Our table was inches from the next, which was also inches from the next. The pizza was flavorful and explained the crowded restaurant and frenzied service.
Dessert was taken at The Chocolate Boutique. Mom, this would be your heaven on earth. We had a hard time deciding between the 10 pages of coffees, teas, cold drinks, ice creams, cakes, pastries, crêpes, and, of course, chocolates. We settled on sharing the Chocolate Pot.
The setting is a teapot of hot, liquid dark chocolate, two shot glasses, and a creamer. First, you pour some cream into the shot glass, then top it up with the liquid chocolate. After mixing the two with a miniature spoon, enjoy! With less cream the concoction was bitter, with more it was like drinking milk chocolate. It was amazing! Not surprisingly, the quaint boutique was filled with girls and women of all ages getting their fix of choco-therapy.
After another long, successful day, we were getting ready for bed when I caught a good look at the back of Brandon’s neck. It was beet red! Like a lobster. Utterly confused, we examined each others’ skin to find that we had each burned today. Brandon’s forehead was shiny and taught, and my back bore a white criss-cross from the straps of my shirt. This was our first lesson on the powerful effects of the UV rays here in NZ. Despite thick cloud-cover, which yielded heavy rain at points throughout the day, our skin had fried. I can only imagine the potential for burns when the suns rays beat down hot and strong. Starting tomorrow: sunscreen.
Until then…
After a frustrating hour on the computer trying to figure out how to put a slideshow on the blog, we set out for Pt. Chevalier to look around at potential properties.
Sadly, it was a very cloudy day, but my skin is thriving in the warm humidity.
We walked around Pt. Chev. for about four hours, exploring the many shops lining the streets: everywhere you turn there is a new delicatessen or bakery or butcher or produce shop, not to mention the cafés. Throughout the city, in fact, you’d be hard-pressed to find any duplicate shops – every one is unique.
In the afternoon, we treated ourselves to mince and steak pies from a small pastry shop before making our first trek to the beach which is a mere 2km from a potential residence. And despite the cloud-cover, I was thrilled to finally see the ocean.
After following a raised plank footpath through dense vegetation, we reached the shoreline. The park and beach were deserted except for a young maori girl’s birthday party which was taking place at the playground.
It was low-tide, so the water was about half a kilometer from the shore. As we set out, I was surprised to find that, instead of sand, the ground was covered in seashells. Millions and millions of them. Every step we took resulted in the crunch-crunch of breaking shells. Sadly, we were running short on time and had to turn back before reaching the water, but the salty smell and the warm wet air were enough to sate my desire for the ocean.
We viewed two properties today. One was absolutely hideous: a mouldy bathroom, bubbling carpet, and dirty kitchen (the cupboards were lined with stale arrowroot cookies and grains of rice.) The second, well, let’s just say it was love at first sight.
Every window is decorated with stained glass in this circa 1940 house. A large veranda greeted us before we walked through the front door. Once inside we were awed by the 10-foot ceilings and the decorative moulding that covered them. The floors were all polished wood, and the walls were painted neutrally, except for a stunning feature wall the color of wine. The kitchen was clean and equipped with many tall cupboards. The bathroom, er, toilet, was also clean and white with room enough to spare. The master (and only) bedroom was easily a room and a half, again with polished wood floors and a wardrobe that reached the ceiling. (I’ll definitely need a footstool.)
So, we’ve received the application and will be submitting it on Monday, hoping to move in next week. And besides the lovely architecture and design, the house is three blocks from my school, and across the street from a grocer, butcher, and bakery.
Finally, after spending so much time walking, we returned to our hotel and went for dinner. We ate at a pizzeria called La Pancetta which was full to the brim. Our table was inches from the next, which was also inches from the next. The pizza was flavorful and explained the crowded restaurant and frenzied service.
Dessert was taken at The Chocolate Boutique. Mom, this would be your heaven on earth. We had a hard time deciding between the 10 pages of coffees, teas, cold drinks, ice creams, cakes, pastries, crêpes, and, of course, chocolates. We settled on sharing the Chocolate Pot.
The setting is a teapot of hot, liquid dark chocolate, two shot glasses, and a creamer. First, you pour some cream into the shot glass, then top it up with the liquid chocolate. After mixing the two with a miniature spoon, enjoy! With less cream the concoction was bitter, with more it was like drinking milk chocolate. It was amazing! Not surprisingly, the quaint boutique was filled with girls and women of all ages getting their fix of choco-therapy.
After another long, successful day, we were getting ready for bed when I caught a good look at the back of Brandon’s neck. It was beet red! Like a lobster. Utterly confused, we examined each others’ skin to find that we had each burned today. Brandon’s forehead was shiny and taught, and my back bore a white criss-cross from the straps of my shirt. This was our first lesson on the powerful effects of the UV rays here in NZ. Despite thick cloud-cover, which yielded heavy rain at points throughout the day, our skin had fried. I can only imagine the potential for burns when the suns rays beat down hot and strong. Starting tomorrow: sunscreen.
Until then…
Friday, January 9, 2009
Day One
Twenty-four hours have passed since we arrived in NZ, and what an interesting day it has been!
After a four-hour flight to LAX, a nine-hour Blitz-filled layover, and a fourteen-hour overnight flight to Auckland, we made it. But let me give you more details.
Our flight from Edmonton to LAX was delayed, so we spent from 4am-8am waiting around, exhausted, to board. Once in Los Angeles, we hunkered down for our layover, starting with food at Route 66 and coffee at Starbucks. We passed the time by playing Dutch Blitz (I won every game) and watching movies on my computer: “So I Married an Axe Murderer” and “Iron Man.” Boarding the next flight was arduous as there seemed to be a thousand people on the same flight. As it turns out, there nearly was. The plane from LAX to Auckland was a double-decker, something I’ve never flown in before. That wasn’t the first surprise: the meals we were served were delicious. Dinner was a choice of beef Bolognaise or grain-fed cayenne chicken with sautéed mushrooms. Oh yes, served with a choice of red or white wine. For free! We were also supplied with pillows, blankets and headphones with which to watch any of the plethora of films and TV shows. The flight staff were kind and accommodating. My only qualm was with the seating. Brandon had the window seat, which worked out for him, but I had the middle seat which did not work out for me. The woman to my right was a larger sort who happened to sleep like the dead, so most of the flight I tried to ignore how badly I needed to pee. Although I forced her out of her seat five or so times, I could’ve gone another five tines. Those of you who know me know that this is not an exaggeration.
Anyway, we landed in Auckland just before 5am on the 9th. We were ushered through customs and bio-security after collecting our baggage, which all arrived, thank goodness. Then we got our rental car, a Toyota Matrix, after the Budget employee informed us we would now have to drive on the correct side of the road. So, we loaded up and were gone.
Our first destination was Pt. Chevalier, the area where my school is. We made it, then drove right past it onto a freeway, which seem to come out of nowhere when you’re not looking, and seem invisible when you are. We ate breakfast (croissant for me, eggs Benedict for Brandon) at one of the many cafés and checked out a local grocery store (to compare prices) before heading downtown to the bank. There, we activated our accounts at Westpac and strolled through the downtown area. We also purchased cell phones (mobiles) and ate lunch at a side-street diner (falafel salad for me, beef sandwich for Brandon). During the four hours we spent downtown, I needed to change clothes, as it was a balmy 25C. Heaven!
Then we headed to our hotel, Parnell City Motor Lodge. Which isn’t as cute as advertised, or as large, and the wireless connection is so bad we have to sit outside to use the internet, but it does the trick. And it’s in a very cute neighborhood packed with award-winning restaurants, quaint cafés, boutiques, and historical buildings. We ate dinner at Oh Calcutta, an authentic Indian restaurant where Brandon was pleased to find he quite enjoys Indian food. After eating, we rushed to Avondale, another part of town, to view a property for rent. At 4km from school, and on a quiet street, it’s quite tempting. However, the bright paint colors are an item of contention which we are working out with the owner.
After all this, we arrived home exhausted, and slept soundly until birdsong woke us this morning. Paradise.
Or close to it.
Here are some things I’ve learned so far:
1. it’s not a washroom, it’s a toilet
2. it’s not a vacation, it’s a holiday
3. it’s not a cell phone, it’s a mobile
4. shoes are optional pretty much everywhere
5. kiwis aren’t as fat as Canadians
6. Edmonton is a beautifully designed city (Auckland is a conglomeration of many cities, each of which chose, at one point or another, what to name its’ streets. The whole shebang is one giant mish-mash of street and avenue and road and way and pass and trail names. There’s a Victoria St downtown, a Victoria Way a few kilometers away, and a Victoria Ave in another part of town. Also, the name of a road applies only to the patch of asphalt that is not intersected by another. So, on one side of a street, a road has one name, and on the other side it has another name. This goes on everywhere. It’s a bloody mess! More than anything else, this has been the true test of our marriage! Needless to say, we are seriously considering buying a digital navigator.)
7. Not all plugs are created equal. (We purchased numerous adapters/converters/transformers prior to leaving Canada, and I read all the confusing information about what to use when, but I still managed to blow the circuit in the bathroom and ruin my flat-iron.)
So that’s that. I can only imagine what adventures we’ll experience today.
After a four-hour flight to LAX, a nine-hour Blitz-filled layover, and a fourteen-hour overnight flight to Auckland, we made it. But let me give you more details.
Our flight from Edmonton to LAX was delayed, so we spent from 4am-8am waiting around, exhausted, to board. Once in Los Angeles, we hunkered down for our layover, starting with food at Route 66 and coffee at Starbucks. We passed the time by playing Dutch Blitz (I won every game) and watching movies on my computer: “So I Married an Axe Murderer” and “Iron Man.” Boarding the next flight was arduous as there seemed to be a thousand people on the same flight. As it turns out, there nearly was. The plane from LAX to Auckland was a double-decker, something I’ve never flown in before. That wasn’t the first surprise: the meals we were served were delicious. Dinner was a choice of beef Bolognaise or grain-fed cayenne chicken with sautéed mushrooms. Oh yes, served with a choice of red or white wine. For free! We were also supplied with pillows, blankets and headphones with which to watch any of the plethora of films and TV shows. The flight staff were kind and accommodating. My only qualm was with the seating. Brandon had the window seat, which worked out for him, but I had the middle seat which did not work out for me. The woman to my right was a larger sort who happened to sleep like the dead, so most of the flight I tried to ignore how badly I needed to pee. Although I forced her out of her seat five or so times, I could’ve gone another five tines. Those of you who know me know that this is not an exaggeration.
Anyway, we landed in Auckland just before 5am on the 9th. We were ushered through customs and bio-security after collecting our baggage, which all arrived, thank goodness. Then we got our rental car, a Toyota Matrix, after the Budget employee informed us we would now have to drive on the correct side of the road. So, we loaded up and were gone.
Our first destination was Pt. Chevalier, the area where my school is. We made it, then drove right past it onto a freeway, which seem to come out of nowhere when you’re not looking, and seem invisible when you are. We ate breakfast (croissant for me, eggs Benedict for Brandon) at one of the many cafés and checked out a local grocery store (to compare prices) before heading downtown to the bank. There, we activated our accounts at Westpac and strolled through the downtown area. We also purchased cell phones (mobiles) and ate lunch at a side-street diner (falafel salad for me, beef sandwich for Brandon). During the four hours we spent downtown, I needed to change clothes, as it was a balmy 25C. Heaven!
Then we headed to our hotel, Parnell City Motor Lodge. Which isn’t as cute as advertised, or as large, and the wireless connection is so bad we have to sit outside to use the internet, but it does the trick. And it’s in a very cute neighborhood packed with award-winning restaurants, quaint cafés, boutiques, and historical buildings. We ate dinner at Oh Calcutta, an authentic Indian restaurant where Brandon was pleased to find he quite enjoys Indian food. After eating, we rushed to Avondale, another part of town, to view a property for rent. At 4km from school, and on a quiet street, it’s quite tempting. However, the bright paint colors are an item of contention which we are working out with the owner.
After all this, we arrived home exhausted, and slept soundly until birdsong woke us this morning. Paradise.
Or close to it.
Here are some things I’ve learned so far:
1. it’s not a washroom, it’s a toilet
2. it’s not a vacation, it’s a holiday
3. it’s not a cell phone, it’s a mobile
4. shoes are optional pretty much everywhere
5. kiwis aren’t as fat as Canadians
6. Edmonton is a beautifully designed city (Auckland is a conglomeration of many cities, each of which chose, at one point or another, what to name its’ streets. The whole shebang is one giant mish-mash of street and avenue and road and way and pass and trail names. There’s a Victoria St downtown, a Victoria Way a few kilometers away, and a Victoria Ave in another part of town. Also, the name of a road applies only to the patch of asphalt that is not intersected by another. So, on one side of a street, a road has one name, and on the other side it has another name. This goes on everywhere. It’s a bloody mess! More than anything else, this has been the true test of our marriage! Needless to say, we are seriously considering buying a digital navigator.)
7. Not all plugs are created equal. (We purchased numerous adapters/converters/transformers prior to leaving Canada, and I read all the confusing information about what to use when, but I still managed to blow the circuit in the bathroom and ruin my flat-iron.)
So that’s that. I can only imagine what adventures we’ll experience today.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
And We're Off!
With less than eighteen hours to go, Brandon and I find ourselves a little lost for words. There are people we wish we could see, things we wish we could do and places we'd like to visit before we leave this country behind. But, as we had anticipated, the time to depart has come so quickly that we can't say goodbye in person to many people that we cherish. Also, the few big goodbye's have left us emotionally weary and anxious. And despite our excitement, we can't help but wonder if the journey we're embarking on with be worth the pain and tears. Since this time is so painful and tearful, it's hard to imagine that any one place could be worth it.
So, when the weepy haze clears, we'll be sure to let you know.
The next time you hear from us, I will be writing from the Land of the Long White Cloud.
Kristen and Brandon
So, when the weepy haze clears, we'll be sure to let you know.
The next time you hear from us, I will be writing from the Land of the Long White Cloud.
Kristen and Brandon
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Kristen's Breaks '09
TERMS
One: Monday 2 February - Thursday 9 April (BREAK: April 10-26)
Two: Monday 27 April - Friday 3 July (BREAK: July 4-19)
Three: Monday 20 July - Friday 25 September(BREAK: September 26 - October 11)
Four: Monday 12 October - Wednesday 16 December(BREAK: December 17- ~February 2)
ADDITIONAL HOLIDAYS
Auckland Anniversary - Monday 26 January (In the holidays)
Waitangi Day - Friday 6 February
Easter - Friday 10 - Monday 13 April (In the holidays)
ANZAC - Saturday 25 April (In the holidays)
Queens Birthday - Monday 1 June
Labour Day - Monday 26 October
Friday, January 2, 2009
We've Re-Booked
So, we weren't expecting to get our Visas until Monday, at the earliest. To our surprise, we found out this morning that they were being delivered today. We made a mad dash back to Edmonton, as the pack was being delivered to the home of our friends, Dale and Kathleen, who weren't home. We were eager to receive the package instead of wait until Monday. Well, we learned from the friendly people at FedEx that the driver had left our package behind the screen door at Dale and Kathleen's, which concerned us as they don't live in the greatest of neighborhoods, and if the wrong person got their hands on it, well, they'd have everything they need to steal our identities. Needless to say, I was freaking out and Brandon kept telling me to relax, to no avail. Thankfully, Mom and Dad Goodkey picked up the package and it was placed safely into our hands this afternoon. Since then, we've re-booked our flights (hence the new countdown), we've reserved a rental car as well as a hotel for our first week. We're really on our way now.
Tonight we said a tearful goodbye to Tiffany, Brandon's sister. It was the first of family goodbyes, and we're in for a tough time, I think.
So, stay tuned... we're off.
Tonight we said a tearful goodbye to Tiffany, Brandon's sister. It was the first of family goodbyes, and we're in for a tough time, I think.
So, stay tuned... we're off.
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